Scar Stories
by DeskRage
Summary: Scars were forever. Everyone knew that. But even as the battle raged and the forest came down around their ears, Renamon's heart could warm in the knowledge that something inside Impmon, something that had been badly broken, was finally starting to heal.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This…got big. It was born from thinking what the group dynamic would be with the Digimon, especially with the inclusions of Impmon and the other new Digimon. The nine haven't exactly worked super closely with each other for very long at all, as the final season and episodes were mostly spent in mini groups (the three mains plus Cyberdramon, Impmon/Calumon, Guardromon/MarineAngemon), so I wanted to explore that a little while being horrible to Impmon again. He's just such a fun character.

That said, this story is also complete, sitting happily in my Word documents. Given my admittedly crappy track record with uploading chapters of stories that aren't finished, I have decided I would not post a single chapter until the whole thing was done. But because I am a cruel beast, I shall be posting the chapters in weekly increments.

Reading _Stand Up_ is not a prerequisite to understand this story, but it does help, as my "Digital World adventures with the Digimon" take place in the same continuity. Final note-when the mons talk about karma in this chapter, it's not reflective of my knowledge or what I think...I just don't think these guys would have anything more than a very basic knowledge of the concept XD

Let me know what you think! Comments, criticism, etc. Reviews feed and nourish hungry writers. More importantly though, enjoy. :3

_Scar Stories (c) DeskRage_

* * *

><p>Impmon dug his claws into the side of the steep slate incline. Crumbling flakes of shale bit against the thinning fabric of his gloves and rained down below—<p>

"Aaagh, watch it, Impmon!"

-presumably into Terriermon's eyes.

"Shut up," Impmon growled, trying to keep focus and claw himself up further. "This ain't exactly a picnic!"

With the Terriermon hanging onto his tail, Lopmon clinging to Terriermon's right ear and Calumon dangling precariously by Lopmon's ear, it was all Impmon could do to keep them all anchored to the side of this ninety-degree angle of a cliff face.

"You can do it, Impmon!" Called Guilmon from a ledge that might as well have been a thousand feet up for all the progress he was making. "As soon as you get close enough, we'll pull you up the rest of the way!" Guilmon, Gardromon, Renamon and MarineAngemon hovered over the side, poised and ready to reach.

A sharp wind shrieked by, pulling the end of the Digimon chain, threatening to drag them off the side of the mountain. For a second Impmon thought his claws might tear out.

Of course, if he could digivolve, this wouldn't even be an issue.

_If I ever meet Momodramon again, I'll rip his fins off._

* * *

><p>It had started out simply.<p>

"Guilmon, are you sure this is the way?"

"Positive!"

"I know we've kinda been wishing for a change of pace, but this a bit much…"

Out of the stony plane rose a jagged cliff face that soared straight up into the colorless sky. It had to be about ninety degrees straight up. Now, this normally wouldn't be a problem for some of them. Renamon in particular was a fantastic climber who regularly scaled skyscrapers in the Real World. Impmon was no slouch in the climbing department, either, but even he was used to surfaces that had at least some purchase.

The surface of this mountain was a lost closer to the ground they'd been walking on. Brittle, crackly and smooth.

However, Guilmon was convinced it was the way to go.

Impmon didn't really understand it, but the demon dinosaur seemed to have a strange connection to his Tamer that none of the other Digimon seemed to be able to match. All of them had it to some extent, especially Renamon (for those of those counting, and Impmon was, he knew his own connection to his Tamers was so far the weakest. He knew it was probably due to the short amount of time he actually spent with them, the delayed arrival of the digivice, lack of Biomerge digivolution…a lot of reasons, but still), but Guilmon apparently had always been something of a special case. So when he said that he could feel Takato somehow, even worlds apart, the others had trusted him without question.

The sight of this sheer rock face might have even been a blessing from the featureless splot of rock that they'd been tromping through for a week (Calumon had found a stick that they'd started notching to keep track of time. No one commented on the human-ness of this behavior, although a lifetime ago Impmon might have). Now after being asked to climb it, Impmon was seriously considering the pros and cons of forever having bits of shale stock in the pads of his paws.

"Ally oop!"

They'd formed a chain, with Guilmon going first—he had powerful claws and a long, muscular tail that could form the basis for the best "hook" as they clawed up the mountainside. Renamon went next, supporting and showing Gardromon the best places to put his feet (all metal, rounded edges and heaviness made him the worst climber). So Guilmon wouldn't be endlessly dragging, the next strongest, Monodramon went next, helping push Gaurdromon along. Impmon held onto Monodramon, heading (or tailing) the lightest members of the group. MarineAngemon floated along as supportively as he could.

Impmon lost track of the miserable amount of time hanging onto the tip of Monodramon's flailing tail, scrabbling at the cliffside with his feet and blinking away dust and little rocks away from his eyes. But they'd definitely gone up a significant distance. Impmon had stupidly looked down to note the dizzying height from where they now were before quickly burying his face back into the cliff.

But that meant they were close to the top. Or at least a ledge where they could rest.

All that was tossed out the proverbial window when Monodramon suddenly whirled to the side with a growl.

"I've got to go!" was all he said.

In the moment Impmon had lost his grip on Monodramon's tail, he noticed the striking change in the Vaccine type's eyes. Normally bright and friendly (despite the fuzzy lack of focus, as though he was seeing past whatever he was looking at), they'd flipped, suddenly intensely focused and hard.

With a scrowl, he threw himself away from the cliffside.

"Monodramon, we have to stick together!" someone screamed at him.

"I've got to go!" Monodramon repeated. He fell only for a moment—beofore literally vanishing into what seemed like thin air.

It wasn't thin air though—for the air in the spot where Monodramon disappeared was twisty and undulating, like a heat wave, tinted with tiny shimmering lights almost invisible to the naked eye.

Impmon barely noted that part.

"YAAAAAHHH!"

"Impmon!"

Reflexively, Impmon had jammed his claws into the side of the mountain. He tore his right-hand glove as they slid down. That slowed them some, but it wasn't enough. Terriermon, despite the fact he was being dragged on by his ear and in no angle to do anything useful managed to swing himself and the lower parts of the Digimon chain against the cliff side. It stopped them from falling further, but they'd now at least a tall tree's length away from the others.

"_Nuts!"_

* * *

><p>So now, Impmon again stopped trying to count the minutes, instead focusing on the now monumental task of placing one hand in front of the other, trying to ignore the protesting weakness in the backs of his hands. They were almost within reach now, but his hands were spasming with the effort of gripping by now, and he didn't even have his tail for balance.<p>

"This sucks!"

But he _would_ do this, even if he did end up tearing all his claws out!

The cliffside had other ideas. Maybe it was weak and he'd been gripping it too hard, or just plain bad luck, it decided to crack and give way.

Renamon's arm snaked out to grab him by the wrist before they could fall again. With Gaurdromon's help, she dragged the rest of them up.

Impmon flopped onto the ledge.

"Thanks!" Terriermon gasped, shaking his little hands and massaging his sore ears. "We'd have been toast without you."

"No thanks to that jerk, Monondramon," Impmon grumbled.

"Aww, cheer up, Impmon," Calumon said encouragingly, hopping over to him. "We're fine now, and the fact Monodramon's gone mean he could feel his Tamer!"

Impmon blinked. That certainly painted things in a bit of different light.

"He can do that?"

"Well, I seem to be doing it." Guilmon said, titling his head.

"I think Guilmon is right," Renamon mused. "Monodramon and his Tamer have been together for longer than some of us have been alive."

"Fascinating. It's hard to believe that the bond between Tamers and partners could grow so strong. I can't wait to return to the real world." Gaurdomon added—a little unnecessarily, Impmon thought.

"You guys are freaks," he wheezed at Guilmon. He examined his hands. His right glove was ripped all to heck, revealing a white-tipped, gently bloodied claw. Now that he could see the injury, it started to sting.

"Careful there, Mr. Warp Digivolve!" Terriermon nudged him.

It might be true, but he hadn't digivolved since getting here.

"Hey, guys! Look!" Guilmon had scrabbled a few feet higher up. There was a smile in his voice.

"What is it?" Renamon hopped up to Guilmon's level, sending a shower of pebbles down on the others. Impmon was picking the rocks out of his bandana when Guilmon said,

"It's our way out of this place."

He was sticking his hand _through_ the rocks. When he pulled it out, the surface around it rippled and gleamed, like a puddle of water. It sparkled thinly with ethereal light.

"Follow me!" Guilmon said before disappearing into the portal with a shimmer.

Impmon stood up.

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

The remaining digimon clambered to where Guilmon had pushed through.

"Perhaps this is an inappropriate time to say this. But we seem to have encountered a lot of problems and trails since embarking on this journey," Lopmon murmured. "Sometime I wonder if we're being punished for something."

"What, like karma?" Terriermon replied.

"What's karma?" Impmon asked, interest piqued. He shifted his weight a little on the ledge around the portal, which proved to be a mistake—Terriermon didn't get the chance to answer him because he fell through it. The last thing he did hear was Terriermon,

"Why are we always falling?"

* * *

><p>Maybe it was paranoia, but the instant they landed, Impmon struggled to his feet, fur bristling and eyes wide as he cast around for whatever mutated retard that would no doubt jump out of them this time.<p>

This was the first of a series of pleasant surprises that of course culminated in near-fatal disaster, but that was for later.

For one, no one attacked them. And unlike the other time they'd fallen from great heights in getting from point A to point B, this time the ground was—

"I never thought I'd miss grass so much!" Calumon chirped, making snow angel motions in the scrubby wet grass.

"Me neither!" Terriermon sighed.

"At what cost, I wonder," Renamon mused, glancing around at their surroundings.

They were smack dab in the middle of what seemed to be a bombed-out forest halfway through its "growing back" phase. The first impression Impmon had was that of a massive mouth with blackened, broken teeth—but that analogy broke down quickly after about a second of looking. Many of the trees in this forest had probably been huge and imposing. Now most of them had a startled, split off look with jagged breaks. The bark was mostly ashen gray, with splotches of charcoal black. The terrain, mostly jagged and broken like a stomped graham cracker as though it had been torn up by an earthquake was mostly hidden by a thick, cool mist that clung and swirled at the bases of the blasted trees. Despite everything, though, the ground was marshy and a little squelchy. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth, but unmistakably tinged with…

"Is it just me or am I smelling fire?" Impmon asked. He looked closer at the surrounding woods. Some of the trees had a split off, jagged look, with bark that was either charcoal black in its entirety or in nasty patches.

"No. It reminds me of the D-Reaper's smell."

"It seems to have regrown itself pretty well, though," Terriermon said.

He had a point. Despite the blackened, skeletal look of the forest, he noticed the new growth was twisted dark and sickly looking—growing freakishly fast though, enough to lend itself to a scraggly canopy!

As such, the light that pushed through appeared in a latticework of weak, colorless light. It made the squiggling mottled shadows seem to twitch and move.

"Maybe," Gaurdromon said. He was still looking around, as though confused. "But something about this place is very familiar. I know I've been here before!"

"Well, we'll see if you remember. But for now, let's get out of the open," Guilmon suggested. "I get the feeling we're being watched..."

Everyone groaned. Impmon could sympathize, but they all knew that Guilmon was right. Calumon hadn't tried digivolving them since they landed back in the Digital World, and not having eaten anything since arriving probably would compound that. Besides, he'd heard Renamon and the others talking one night about how they weren't sure how reliable Calumon's ability to digivolve them would be now that they were separated from their Tamers—and how Calumon had released much of his power into the Digital World already in the fight against the D-Reaper.

And of course, Impmon himself couldn't seem to do anything either. He hadn't tried to digivolve again since MetalTyrannomon last week. He couldn't honestly say he was eager to try again for fear of failing and the shame at this inability. _Again_.

He found himself drifting towards the tail-end of their little herd until he was pretty much bringing up the rear alongside Gaurdromon. The big metal digimon was still looking around and squinting—as much as he could squint, Impmon guessed. He had no idea what Guardromon looked like under his armor. He surely had some kind of body inside, given the big organic eyes and (hilariously) echoing stomach growl.

"If we walk much further I'm pretty sure my feet'll fall off," he whined to no one in particular. "We've been walking for days, and I just climbed a mountain dragging three other Digimon and fell ten thousand feet. Don't you think we oughta catch a little R n' R before hittin' the road this hard?"

He didn't expect anyone to answer him. After a few minutes of walking in silence—or in Guardromon's case, clanking along noisily—the machine digimon surprised him,

"I must say that I'm a little confused at some digimon's complaints of hunger," he confessed. "I've very rarely felt those needs myself. It wasn't until the real word that I was even really aware of it in the fullest sense. But even now, to my own surprise, I am indeed hungry like the rest of you."

"That's because you fought your way to Ultimate level," Renamon supplied without looking back. "You were used to absorbing data. I was the same. However, since we've stopped loading our enemies, and are still regaining our strength from the final battle with the D-Reaper, we're going to have to seek other ways of bolstering our recoveries. The vegetables and fruits in the digiworld also contain data, even though it's not quite the same as directly loading."

"I suppose that does make sense," Guardromon muttered. Impmon hadn't really paid attention to Renamon's technobabble, instead having fixated on another thing,

"Woah, wait, you _battled_ your way to Ultimate?"

It had never occurred to him that this stuffy-mannered bucket of bolts could have possibly made it to Ultimate the traditional way. He must have fought _hundreds_, if not _thousands _of Digimon to get to that point! Even Renamon hadn't made it to just her Champion level the old way, and he knew for a fact that she had loaded many enemies in her time.

Looking at Guardromon now, there was plenty of evidence for the digimon's caliber as a fighter. His armor was scuffed, joins well-worn and ready for use, and he knew from bitter experience that even as a Mega level, his Guardian Barrage did sting. For the first time he noted a long scratch along Guardromon's rounded side. It was jagged, and easily the deepest mark on the big metal digimon, though nowhere near bad enough to be a dent.

Impmon swallowed. He had never really thought of Guardromon as much of a fighter. He hadn't really thought about him much at all. The only experience he'd ever really seen the other Digimon fight was against _him, _after all_. _Maybe he was seeing things, but he remembered wounding Guardromon during the fight against Gallantmon. Could he have been the one to leave that mark?

Guardromon looked at him. Embarassed, Impmon glanced away quickly, wondering if Guardromon noticed where he was staring. His expressions—or what he had of one, anyway, was unreadable. "_I_ found my strength as a warrior for justice," he said, "There's enough injustice in both worlds for it to be perfectly possible that one devoted to such a cause would be able to digivolve to Ultimate. But I never took pleasure in the wake of a defeated enemy, merely the satisfaction that justice had been served and an innocent spared, even if I risk my life in the process."

Perhaps Impmon was being overly sensitive—ew, what a weird thought!—but something in Guardromon's voice seemed pointed. He frowned. There was more to this guy than he'd initially thought. And yet…

He resisted the temptation to sigh. Suddenly felt very singled out and very alone.

"Hey, we're in luck!"

"Oh, yummy, yummy—food!"

Terriermon's exclamation and Calumon's excited laughter sent an electric jolt through the weary company. Bolstered by the thought of a potential meal, no matter how meager, they stampeded over to where Terriermon and Calumon seemed to have found something.

Impmon stopped dead. Okay, so it looked like Guardromon wasn't the only one with a little déjà vu. "Wait a sec…"

"Now, I'm not normally one for mushrooms, but right now, even these look great!" Terriermon said, wrenching a fat, spotty mushroom from its place. He raised it to his mouth to take a bite, when Impmon darted forward and slapped it out of his hands,

"Don't eat that!

Terriermon was surprised enough by the sudden attack that he didn't respond in kind.

"Hey, what's your problem?"

"We can't eat those. Those are—I think they're called the mushrooms of forgetfulness or something like that."

For the life of him he couldn't remember where he'd learned that. Of course he couldn't.

"Are you sure?" Renamon wondered. Impmon folded his arms irritably.

"Sure? Of course I'm sure! What gives you the impression that I'm not sure?"

"But how do you know?" Guilmon asked, titling his head like a disappointed puppy.

"I—don't remember. But hey, I'm a pretty smart guy! I've probably forgotten more stuff than you'll ever know, Pineapple Head."

"Well there's some irony for you." Terriermon put down his mushroom and climbed up onto Guilmon's back. "Hey, maybe you remember them from a past life."

"Okay, what's all this with past lives and karma?" Impmon asked, stamping a foot. "It's starting to get old."

"Yes, you never finished explaining that," Lopmon added.

They started walking again. Normally Impmon wouldn't have listened to closely, but Terriermon had been harping on it earlier and he had to admit—he was curious.

"Guess I didn't. Hmm…let me think a minute. Say a digimon gets defeated, but his data doesn't get loaded for some reason. If he was a nice person and did good things in his life, that means he'll have good karma for if he's reformed out of whatever was left of his data. Which means he'll have a good life, like a reward for the good stuff he did in his previous life."

"So Guardromon would be a good example of someone with good karma?" Guilmon asked.

"Sure, I think!"

"So, that's why you guys don't load data anymore," Impmon realized out loud while Guardromon was coughing in as dignified bashfulness at the praise as was possible, "So whoever you defeated might be reformed again?"

"Yeah," Terriermon said. "Like giving them a second chance." He blinked at Impmon, his black eyes suddenly bright with a curiosity that Impmon could only describe as _wry_. It pissed him off. "Why did you think we did that?"

"I don't know—you guys are weird!" Impmon blustered, face flushing.

In truth, he hadn't thought about it at all. Not seriously anyway. He'd known from fairly early on from his days of constantly seeking them out and spying on them that they'd stopped loading enemy data. They'd carried out that policy out faithfully, despite what was probably at least an occasionally strong urge to do so.

On his end he couldn't imagine loading data in front of them now even if he did manage to defeat an enemy. The very thought made him feel physically sick.

"So—what happens if you're bad?" Lopmon asked softly.

"Oh!" Terriermon said, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Same thing, basically, but when you're reborn you have a bad life or trouble follows you wherever you go and affects everyone. Like a curse!"

"I knew it," Lopmon sighed. She sounded disappointed, resigned. "So if at least _one_ of us has bad karma, we're all…" she trailed off, as everyone had gone very, very quiet.

Impmon froze, trying desperately not to react despite feeling like the fur had been flayed from his body, face red-hot , tail rigid. He could feel everyone's eyes on his back, guilty, but magnetic gazes. He felt like a rice cooker, all pressure and heat until he was going to scream at them _WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, HUH?_

But Terriermon broke the silence.

"It's only awkward if you make it awkward, you know."

"Terriermon!" Renamon warned.

Terriermon spun around on Guilmon's back. "Momentai."

Impmon glared at him. _Momentai?_ Momentai, but not sorry.

He ought to make Terriermon sorry! He caught Terriermon's gaze, and opened his mouth—that little brat was looking at him with those impassive black eyes that practically _screamed _challenge without betraying even the slightest hint of anger and it drove Impmon crazy, but something in those eyes stopped him.

There was nothing Impmon could say in his own defense. And honestly, there was nothing he wanted to say. He would never deny his actions. What was in the past was done.

So _why_ did Terriermon's coal-black eyes, empty of malice, or even anger hurt so much?

"I was talking about me…" Lopmon protested, but Impmon was pretty sure he was the only one who heard her.

* * *

><p>Once they settled down to camp for the night and people had started dropping off to sleep, Impmon announced he was going to go scout. Before Renamon (first on tonight's watch) and Guardromon (still going on about how this dumb forest was familiar to him) could say anything, he hopped away before he could hear their protests. He knew what he was doing was absolutely stupid, but at the moment that part didn't seem terribly important. He half-expected Renamon to chase after him. When she didn't, he was a little surprised, but shrugged it off. She could probably tell he needed the space anyway! That thought at least quashed the tiny flicker of disappointment. What, did they not care if he got squashed out here?<p>

The cool forest smells—despite the charcoal tang of the air—sharp shadow play on the dappled forest floor, twittering, and sometimes menacing howls in the night brought back a strange wave of nostalgia he couldn't place. Maybe he'd been born in a place like this. But after having considered Tokyo's smoggy atmosphere, bright light, noisy people and chaotic cluster of buildings and roads his home for such a long time, he figured that this weird familiarity would be the same way Ai and Makoto might react to the smell of baby wipes and stale panda cookies when they were older.

He leaped deftly from branch to branch, always making sure he left at least some sort of mark so he'd know how to get back, swinging effortlessly from tree to bush and darting through the shadows. He felt wild and alive for the first time in days, gaze darting about from shadow to shadow, tight and ready for quick escape if necessary—

Actually that thought kind of wrecked it, since he honestly preferred a fight and really wanted to punch through something strong and unyielding and prove again that he wasn't a pushover and could be useful for more than just quipping and squabbling with Terriermon, but for some godforsaken reason he couldn't digivolve and as a result he was about as strong and reliable as wet cardboard—

The dull glint of a hanging fruit reminded him of his self-imposed mission.

"Finally!" he hissed to himself, a pointy grin sliding across his features. He hopped over to the next tree. This tree had only one visible fruit dangling temptingly from one of its branches. The rest had the torn look as though it had been recently relieved of its burden. It looked kind of like plum, and the smell was reasonably similar. Like the mushrooms of forgetfulness, he got the feeling that he'd encountered or learned about these before, but couldn't recall any adverse effects.

He twisted it off the branch, careful not to squish it in the process. This was the only fruit he'd encountered in this whole stinking forest so far, and even though his mouth watered at the thought of eating it, he sighed, contenting himself with giving it a sniff and put it aside. He told himself that he just didn't want to be that jerk who ate the last one of anything—not the case, he'd been known to do that with no remorse in the past—but knew that he'd actually just give it to Calumon.

"I find you are in strict violation of the buddy policy!"

Guardromon's voice nearly made him loose his balance entirely. But after a moment's struggle spent composing himself, he shook his fist at the other digimon.

The buddy policy. Early on, the group would talk or joke about how "splitting the party" was a bad idea, and how they didn't want to relive the experience of tramping around all over the Digital World looking for each other (which mostly consisted of wandering around, hoping they'd run into one of their lost number). However, on occasion, they _had _been forced to split up for short periods. A group of nine—eight, now that Monodramon had scarpered off—was not exactly inconspicuous an was in no way stealthy. Sometimes, to scout, or figure out the literal and metaphorical forks on the road, the group had been faced with the unavoidable dilemma. The solution was the buddy policy. Everyone had a "buddy" (the word _partner_ had been conspicuously avoided) who would accompany the other in cases of temporary separation from the group. Buddies would change depending on the situation at hand. They'd had to skirt around their uneven numbers, so there'd always been a buddy group of three. . They provided protection and company, especially in the worst-case scenario that someone did get whisked off to some distant part of the digital world—at least they wouldn't a lone rookie (or champion, in Guardromon's case) in a world whose Mega population, though probably still depleted from the battle with the D-Reaper, were still more numerous than ever before.

"I don't see anyone with you, either, so that makes us even, pal!"

"But I seek to rectify that. Why don't you come down so I don't have to shout up at you and wake the whole forest?"

Impmon snorted. He figured that whatever was going to be awake in this forest was already awake, but he obliged and hopped down a few branches so that he was about eye level with Guardromon.

"What?"

He carefully watched for Guardromon's response. The guy only barely had what you could call a face—nothing but a pair of big moon-shaped green eyes. He seemed to hesitate. Impmon's tail twitched.

"I want to inquire as to whether or not you'd join me for a reconnaissance mission."

The words were very polite-sounding (so much so that it actually made Impmon want to dislike him for the stuffiness, but even he knew this was beyond unreasonable so he tried to stamp that idea out. It was hard), but something about it rang of challenge, almost…curiosity.

"Why me? Renamon was the one on duty."

"Someone strong has to stay behind at camp. You are already gallivanting out here. So, I thought I'd take the initiative. I refuse to rest I until I discover why this place is familiar to me, but I would appreciate someone who can move more quickly and see in the dark more efficiently than I."

Now Impmon was on guard. Last time anyone had attempted to flatter him or know him in any way had been Chatsuramon. But Guardromon wasn't that conniving turd-licker, Guardromon was a member of—of the group, and...

But even this tiny bit of flattery—even if it was true, he could see in the dark better than anyone, even Renamon—brought to the surface the choked dreams he'd had: instead of being curled up at the heart of the group, weak and protected, of him digivolving and protecting _them_ from some kind of external threat, being useful I in a way that only he could be, valued not just as a "friend" but as someone who could actively participate.

He snorted again, "Fine, sure, I'll help you," he said, trying to sound casual. "I've got nothing better to do."

* * *

><p>They rendezvoused with Renamon at the campsite to drop off the plum-fruit-thing Impmon had found. He tossed it to Renamon, who caught it deftly.<p>

"Where did you find this?"

"Ah, I dunno. Just lyin' around somewhere. Give it to whoever's weakest, or something. I don't want it."

He was looking kind of in Calumon's direction when he'd said that. Not that it was necessary, Renamon probably knew what he had in mind the minute he'd brought it back. She didn't mention this, instead nodding and nestling the fruit next to Calumon.

Impmon thought he liked Renamon more every day. She was so dependable like that. On the other hand…

"So…did you send him to find me?" he hopped over to where she was and tried to just sound casually interested while Gaurdromon deliberated on which direction to take first. "I barely know that guy."

"No. I was going to go and fetch you, but he volunteered." Renamon poked the fire with a stick and looked him in the eye.

"I don't think he likes me much," Impmon folded his arms sulkily, pretense gone. This was dumb, because he still wasn't sure if _anyone_ in this little group really _liked_ him. Especially Terriermon—_that jerk! _He couldn't help but remember earlier that day. Although he couldn't say he really liked Terriermon, either. But Guardromon, well…

If Renamon had been given to human expressions—actually, all of them had adopted humanish mannerisms while in the Real World, even _him_, eeeegh—she might have raised an eyebrow. Instead, she simply looked at him, a glint of incredulousness gleaming in her star-blue eye. Either way, the message was the same: _Should he like you, given what little he does know of you?_

"Impmon," she admonished gently, turning her attention back towards the fire. "You ought to be grateful for the chance to get to know your teammates* better. They in turn will get to know you. Whatever our differences, we have some very important things in common. That is what matters."

Teammates? He'd never heard that word to include him before. He scowled, but before he could say anything, Guardromon signaled him over. So instead of a witty retort—she was right, of course, she always was—he settled for a dignified, "Hmph!"

* * *

><p>Impmon wasn't keeping super careful track, but it did seem like the night was entering its darkest, deepest phase. He was still getting used to the weirdness of not having a moon—just the weird, greenish light reflected from the distant Real World.<p>

It turned the skeletal, scraggly forest into a ghostly place, all indistinct sea-colored glow and soft, dark shadows—a place of spirits and fear. Well, for other creatures maybe. It only made his fur prickle a _little, _even at the pretty impressive height of this tree.

Still, he had to admit this had been a good idea.

After walking a few kilometers "north" according to Guardromon, he'd been asked to climb the tallest tree he could find and describe what he saw. Impmon dug his claws into the crusty bark (ugh, the tear in the right glove was getting bigger. If it didn't get fixed soon, the whole thing might rip in half), ready to use his tail as a counterbalance should anything happen. This tree was shockingly tall, but it was deader than the Devas, all black and brittle with death. The roots grip on the earth was about as secure as a little old lady's on a PlayStation controller. He figured a particularly strong exhale could blow the thing right the heck over and smash everything for about three-hundred meters or so.

The tree rocked unpleasantly as Guardromon below knocked three times. It was code for, _do you see anything?_

"Gahh!" Impmon yelped, clutching the thinning trunk for dear life.

They hadn't actually thought for a way for Impmon to get back to him without shouting. So, after a second, he snapped off a few of the heavier branches he dared break and flung them down. He heard them skitter on the way down before hearing a hollow _thunk_ of dead wood on metal.

Hopefully Guardromon had gotten the message.

All he noticed so far was this hulked out building of stone and thatch—so it seemed, anyway—half destroyed and pretty much buried in foliage. The only reason he'd noticed it was because the wind smelled very vaguely of _alcohol_ of all things from that direction, which was weird enough to report, he guessed. But he wanted to make sure he hadn't missed anything and so checked the other direction.

Mostly, all he could see was the horrible forest. From way up here, it gave the distinct impression of a partially destroyed woven basket—full of holes, dark, delicate and fragile looking. But there was something he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed or scented before.

"I knew I smelled fire, but that's somethin' else…"

There was a big lake or pond-thing what seemed like a couple of kilometers from their position, all brackish looking black water with a big rock-like structure in the middle of it. But neither of those things were what stood out.

On the rock-structure, there was a fortress of some kind, ringed with bright flaming torches. Two really big fires were seated at the top of a couple of watchtower-like structures. The brilliant orange of the fire was particularly stark against the blacks and greens of the night.

He slid down the tree.

After telling Guardromon of what he's seen, the metal digimon stiffened.

"_What?"_ he said. "You say it smelled like alcohol?"

"Don't make me repeat myself if you're not going to listen," Impmon grumbled.

"But there was a fortress…" Guardromon frowned. Impmon wasn't sure how he could frown without visible face, but something tensed in his eyes and they crinkled in a way that could only be described as a frown. He shook his head with a vague whirring noise. "I must be mistaken. It cannot be."

"What can't be?"

Guardromon didn't answer immediately. Impmon huffed. There was a brief lull, but then—

Someone was screaming.

"Did you hear that?"

"What?"

Impmon spun around. He was only a little at loss for what to do. He'd heard distant screams for help before. During his days of skulking around in the Real World, he'd occasionally hear a cry for help on the darker streets of East Shinjuku. He usually responded—mostly to see what was going on out of a callous kind of curiosity that usually left him more disgusted with humanity with each encounter. Sometimes, there was a tiny, tiny sense that _maybe, he should do something_. But it was always a weak impulse, easily shoved aside and easily forgotten over time. Not too long ago, he had probably been the cause of those kinds of screams himself (but he honestly couldn't remember very well. That part of his life was turning fast into a horrible blur, and he wasn't sure if that was good thing).

But he had never intervened in a digimon fight before. It was honestly…kind of hard to imagine. Unless it was a stronger guy coming in to load both previous combatants...

And yet, he'd changed. The other partnered digimon had changed. Heck, Guardromon here had always apparently been something of a freak, going around and rescuing the weak from bigger digimon or whatever, so…

He clenched his fists.

"Whaddya mean, _what?_ There's no way you didn't hear that!" he pointed in the direction of the cry. Guardromon's eyes were suddenly strange and intensely focused—first on the sound and then fixing back onto Impmon's. He found himself taking a step back without thinking. "I thought this was your thing!"

Guardromon said nothing.

Impmon growled. This felt so strange, but there wasn't really time to think about it beyond _this is what Renamon and the others would do. And if we're a team… _

Another shriek, followed by triumphant guffaws. Guardromon flinched, but still seemed to be looking for something. Impmon's growl turned into a snarl.

"Whatever, I'm going. I don't have time for this!"

He turned to spring off, only to hear Guardromon clanking behind him.

"Lead on! We'll give whatever cowardly bully is out there what for!"

Of course, in the flurry of movement, emotion and purpose, both of them had failed to consider that their enemy might be more than one.

Or an Ultimate.

Or worse.

* * *

><p>Guardromon was surprisingly fast. He was noisy as a train rolling sideways down a hill, all pistons and hydraulics whirring, clanking metal as it rang against the ground, absolutely thrashing the fragile foliage around him in his wake. He almost managed to keep up with Impmon—who while pretty slow just on the ground—was very fast when going by tree.<p>

Sometimes being a ten-pound weakling counted for something.

Impmon happened upon the situation first, Guardromon crashing to a halt several seconds after him.

A pair of Geckomon were huddled in a cluster of what looked like the mushrooms of forgetfulness. The one of the right had one growing out of his head. They'd clearly been eating them, what with a couple of discarded stalks lying around. What was strange was that both had spears lying close beside them. Instead of using them, they were clutching at each other, stumbling over backwards and screaming bloody murder.

Not that they didn't have good reason.

"Geckomon! Then I was right after all," Guardromon said, voice tinged with regret.

"Who cares, that ain't the problem here…"

Two Woodmon slouched towards them, four clawlike arms outstretched. Another pair of them had trapped the Geckomon by ripping themselves free of the foliage behind them. They seized the Geckomon in their vicelike claws—

Impmon hesitated for a single heartbeat—and in that heartbeat, Guardromon crashed to a halt next to them and pointed an accusing fist at the Woodmon.

"I demand you unhand those Geckomon at once! Retreat, and you won't be hurt."

"Yeah, because some serious hurtin' is what you'll be doin' if you ugly fire starters hang around here. So, scram!" Impmon added.

Impmon suddenly realized that they were a (weak, weak weak!) rookie and a single Champion standing up to four Champions who had the ability to drain their energy with a touch. Of course, at that point it didn't matter. But the Woodmon seemed to realize this too, because their only response was to laugh, a horrible, snapping sound like cracking plywood.

Impmon grit his teeth, the fur standing up on the along his spine, tail rigid. Who did these swamp-sniffing toothpicks think they were?

"Look, more fodder to go around," The biggest one said in a voice that reminded Impmon vaguely of rocks dumped into a cement mixer, "The big one is mine."

"You only get one warning," Guardromon said, bringing up both arms to bear. "If you engage us I can assure you we will show you no mercy!"

Things might have degenerated into a battle with only the likely outcome was defeat, but there was still the possible chance of escape, maybe even winning if the Geckmon came to their senses.

The arrival of a new participant transformed the "possible defeat" became "certain".

Actually, this situation reminded him vaguely of the whole Indramon thing.

"My, my, this does seem to be turning into a bit of an ethical conundrum." A voice that seemed altogether way too soft and sophisticated to be coming out of a giant tree monster. "But I actually find that you are in the wrong."

"How did we not notice him before?" Guardromon asked.

"He's got some really good camouflage!"

This was partly true. The Cherrymon was easily several times thicker than most of the trees, dead or alive in the forest. But his general shape, gnarled, crackly bark the mossy vines that hung from his—not head, he was a freaking tree, so…canopy?—seemed to mold him into the shadows of the forest surrounding them.

"And how, pray tell, are we in the wrong?" Guardromon questioned.

Cherrymon made a motion as though he was leaning on his cane in a sagely fashion. "Well my friends, the situation at hand is one that unfolds and evolves all around us, every day. What you see before you now is the law and essence of the Digital World itself."

He said "friends", but he was actually looking at Impmon when he said this. Impmon tensed. He didn't like the way those yellow eyes seemed to stare into him, past the outer layer of flesh and fur and data, down to the twisted little defects in his soul. He felt naked...there were a lot of defects.

"I don't care about that," Impmon retorted, trying to sound convincing and strong, even though there was a significant part of him that felt like he couldn't really argue with Cherrymon on that point… "I don't see any battle—all I see are a bunch of nutcracker rejects pickin' on—on—a couple of weaklings..." he was trailing off fast, God, was he still talking?

It would have been almost funny if the situation hadn't turned so dire.

"Is that right?" Cherrymon grinned. His teeth were weird and creepy—not quite wood but not quite bone either, gross and mossy and stained in places with what looked unpleasantly like blood. "Well, boys," he addressed the other Woodmon, "I don't know about you, but something about that philosophy seems downright _otherworldly_, don't you?"

"And you know what they say about Digimon who've been to the Real World!" cackled the big Woodmon.

"Load the Geckomon, but leave the other two. The boss'll want them in one piece for now," Cherrymon instructed.

"Wait a minute, what's this?" Impmon barked, "I thought you were goin' on about nature and all that crap, since when do Digimon take hostages for their _boss, _and what do they say about Digimon who've been to the real world?"

"Oh dear," Guardromon said as two of the Woodmon advanced slowly.

Impmon blinked. "Whaa?"

"They say if you load the data of a Digimon that's been to the Real World, you'll gain the ability to go there yourself."

"What?" Impmon cried, incredulous, "That's just about the stupidest thing I—AUGH!"

He felt his teeth rip open the inside of his mouth as a huge, splintery fist smashed its way into his face. Impmon flew across the small clearing, only to crash straight into one of the other Woodmon. It tried to grab him, but Impmon managed to roll away and run into one of the Geckomon instead.

"Come on, we're trying to save you! At least don't make it harder!" he snapped at them.

The one with the mushroom sticking out of his forehead quailed. "How?"

Impmon stared at him in disbelief. "Here, you've got these, you morons!" he kicked one of the fallen spears at the other one, who looked at it stupidly before shrieking back in a panicked voice,

"What are these?"

"Aaah, come _on, _what kinda useless Digimon forgets how to fight?" Impmon groaned. He tried to tug the mushroom Geckomon out of the way of the oncoming attack. "You had to eat those mushrooms, didn't you?"

A blow from the nearest of the four Woodmon drove them apart—Impmon rolled away and scampered halfway up a tree before using it as a spring board. He launched himself from there onto the crown of the attacking Woodmon's head.

The Woodmon yelled and tried ineffectually, to grab him, but its longer limbs had no digits and were basically clubs attached to a pair of powerful forearms. "Aagh! Get off!" it attempted to beat Impmon off, but unable to see what it was doing—or where Impmon was on its head, it kept simply—

"Ahahahaha! Stop hitting yourself, you'll give yourself a headache!" Impmon cackled, dodging the blows with relative ease. "Hey, Guardromon! Over here!" he signaled to the metal Digimon, who'd just finished blasting one of the Woodmon into a tree. Guardromon nodded and affirmative, and fired a Guardian Barrage at them. Impmon leaped off the Woodmon's head, fully expecting that Guardromon's missiles would blow it up—only to realize that Guardromon had shot over the thing's head and straight into the sky, where the missile detonated like a firework.

"What are you doing? You missed him!" Impmon accused, as the Woodmon regained its composure and swiped at him again. On the second swipe, it hit him full on, pummeling him into the dirt.

"No, I didn't!" Guardromon replied, a triumphant note in his voice. Impmon didn't have time to wonder about this, because one of the Woodmon grabbed his tail.

"How do you plan on fighting me without your energy?" it hissed at him. "Branch Drain!"

Impmon gasped. It was as though someone had poked a ziplock bag full of water with holes—and he was the bag. Energy leaked out of him freakishly fast, and in a desperate move fueled by adrenaline and panic, he lit the tip of his finger and hurled a tiny red fireball at the Woodmon's face.

"Bada-boom!"

To his surprise and relief, the Woodmon flinched and started back. He scrambled away and rolled—only a little unsteadily—to his feet. He chuckled, lighting his right hand.

Even Cherrymon, who had not so far participated in the battle, seemed surprised.

"Hey, whassamatter, you don't like these little fireworks?" He grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. "That's too bad, because I do!"

Something had to have been said for the sheer suicidal abandon with which Impmon proceeded to fling the exploding fireballs, cackling after the Woodmon. Retrospectively, he would realize that it wasn't so much that they feared _him_, more like they were prompted by their instinctual fear of fire and hadn't figured out how little damage the attack would actually do.

He didn't really get far though—Cherrymon finally did enter the fight, and made that known by throwing Guardromon on top of him with a massive clang.

Impmon went down harder than a sack of potatoes tossed off the second story. Though his vision only went ink-black for a second, he could barely breathe and his head was starting to hurt.

Actually, everything was starting to hurt now.

He flailed weakly, trying to extricate himself, but the machine Digimon had evidently taken a lot more damage than Impmon had considered. "Guardromon," he choked, "I hate to break it to you, but you need to stop crushing my lungs if we're gonna fight!"

"You're right, it would be better to die—standing!" Guardromon wheezed out. It took him a full few seconds, but he managed to stagger back upright, holding his arms out and ready to fight for as long as they'd be able.

The Geckomon, who'd scrambled closer to their would-be protectors, battered, bruised and terrified.

"Is this the end?" One of them shrieked. He was holding the spear with a grip about as strong as overcooked noodles, and clutching it close to his body like a security blanket.

"Not on my watch," Impmon grunted. He pushed himself up for what felt like the fiftieth time—geez, lie down for two seconds and suddenly your whole body turns into cement and your nerve endings all light like dynamite…

Surrounded on all sides by the four barely worse-for-the-wear Woodmon and with Cherrymon scuttling closer, it didn't look like there was much avenue for escape. His own fire wasn't very strong, even the Infernal Funnel might at best give the Woodmon a black eye or make Cherryon sneeze. He clenched his fists.

If only he could digivolve. _Why_ couldn't he do it? Heck, even if he couldn't digivolve, having the others, like Guilmon or something torch these walking woodpiles would be something.

He was suddenly reminded of Leomon, whose primary attack was a wash of raging golden flame.

NO!

NOT.

NOW.

"STOP IT!" he screamed. The force of the shout gave the attackers a tiny bit of pause. He used that time to climb up onto Guardromon's head. Struggling to channel the fury building up in his guts, he lit all six fingers with a flourish, baring his teeth in a vicious growl.

"Okay, I've _had _it! I'm done playing games with you. You take one stinkin' step closer and I'll digivolve and light all of you worthless punks up like a bunch of Christmas trees!"

It was a desperate gambit and he knew it. But it at least might give them time to figure something else out.

Cherrymon seemed intrigued. "Digivolve? You?" If Impmon wasn't so furious, he might have noticed the look of dawning recognition in Cherrymon's face, or heard tone of his voice.

"That's right!" Impmon shouted. "I've been playing nice with you so far, but I'll do it! I've taken out a Cherrymon before up on those rocks not too long ago, and it's been a while since I've needed a toothpick!"

This was one of the few genuine recollections he had. There had been three Cherrymon. During his mad rush in the intial days—hours?—as Beelzemon, he'd found them, and destroyed one. Maybe two? The third one got away, for sure. He remembered chasing it, but the rest of the memory had fallen away into some feverish images he didn't want to sort out right now.

"So try me!" His chest was heaving, eyes bright with fury and frustration at his own weakness, desperation to make this ONE situation that he was involved in not go to merry hell in a freaking _handbasket_—

There was a tense silence.

Cherrymon looked at him with gleaming yellow eyes, doing that searching thing again. Before Impmon could work up the breath to start screaming at the guy again, the Tree Digimon gave a low laugh.

"You can't digivolve."

"_What?"_

"Even if you could at some point, you haven't it in you right now. Too many skeletons in your little soul. I can tell, just by lookin' at you. I know your type."

"My type?"

"Sure. The worst kind of Digimon there is—the guilty killer. I can see it in your eyes. It's unnatural, I tell you."

Cherrymon advanced, grinning that bloody, mossy grin.

"But you won't have to worry about that for long, now, will you?"

* * *

><p>AN: Final note: All the past life jokes are based on the previous voice actors of the characters in question. I'm retarded, I know.

Translation conventions

*teammates: I used this word because it was the closest thing to the actual appropriate word in Japanese, which is "nakama". It just means to be part of a group, or a set united by a common goal. Teammate doesn't really cover it well, since in English its connotations are closer to a sports team, and not quit the "we're in this together" sort of connotation "nakama" has.


	2. Chapter 2

_Scar Stories (c) DeskRage_

_Chapter 2_

* * *

><p>Cherrymon and the Woodmon prepared to deliver a blow when several things happened at once.<p>

Several things seemed to _explode_ at once.

"THERE THEY ARE!" a shrill, lisping voice screeched from the woods surrounding. "WE FOUND THEM!" A troop of Geckomon erupted out of the brush, each brandishing spears.

At the exact same time—

"Pyro Sphere!"

"Diamond Storm!"

"Terrier Tornado!"

Five attacks erupted out of the surrounding forest, destroying all the surrounding foliage for several yards.

One of the unluckier Woodmon caught the full brunt of Guilmon's Pyro Sphere and exploded into a million bits of red data with a screech. The other three flinched and started backwards, as if unsure of who their new enemies were.

Apparently, so was everyone else.

The Geckomon—since there were at least a dozen of them—swarmed towards both the remaining Woodmon _and_ Guilmon and the others, a wall of spears and indistinct shouting from which Impmon thought he could hear,

"Look, we found them!"

"Get away from those two!"

"Wait, who are we fighting?" Guilmon responded in confusion.

"The Woodmon!" Guardromon cried above the din.

The Woodmon and Cherrymon had been hacking away at anyone they could touch, but as soon as the motley force straggled together and formed a line against them, Cherrymon finally balked.

"Retreat," he said, backing away into the woods. The Woodmon fled, some running so quickly that they nearly hit other trees in their panic. Impmon glared at him as he went, meeting his eyes.

"HEY! Coward!" he yelled after him. He didn't get far. He tripped on a break in the ground and plunged to the ground and got a red-hot star of pain exploding in his nose and a mouthful of dirt for his trouble.

Someone had grabbed his arm and was trying to help him to his feet.

"Are you all right? We saw Guardromon's signal in the sky and came as soon as we could."

Impmon hadn't even registered the person helping him was Lopmon as he snapped back, "Yeah, fine!"

He immediately regretted it, though. She released him and looked away, her big black eyes full of hurt. What was—oh. He remembered earlier that day.

_I'm an idiot!_ "Wait, um," he began awkwardly, but before he could finish, he found a bright spear shoved under his nose.

"And _who_," someone lisped shrilly, _"_Are _you?"_

Before Impmon could slap the spear away, another Geckomon dragged the one menacing him back.

"Put that away, you fool! These are old friends of ours!" The Geckomon who corrected the spear holder turned and grinned at the party, who'd collected in a clump around Impmon and Guardromon.

"I knew it!" Guardromon said. "I knew I had been here before."

Two of the Geckomon marched over to the two who had been eating the mushrooms of forgetfulness.

"Get up, you idiots! You're lucky Guardromon and his friend found you before you were loaded!"

"Who're you supposed to be?" the one with the mushroom growing out of his head slurred. The senior Geckomon smacked him and shoved him the unfortunate pair towards the gathered pack of Geckomon. "And that—" the most senior Geckmon shouted at the rest, "is why you don't go wandering from your post when on guard duty!" he adopted a much friendlier demeanor and turned back towards Impmon and the others.

"We never expected to see you guys again. We thank you for helping rescue those two. Please, come back to the fort and we'll thank you properly there."

"Fort?" Guardromon said. He sounded distressed.

"Yes, fort! Now come on, Pu—Cherrymon and his goons come back for round two!"

The partner Digimon accepted the invitation as gracefully as possible. The Geckomon lit their torches and flanked the group like some kind of formal escort and marched away into the trees. Impmon had no idea what was going on, but frankly didn't care. It was about time something nice floated their way, and he wasn't about to complain.

He didn't even complain when Guardromon picked him up and placed him on his shoulder.

"Hey, I can walk!" All right, maybe a little.

"Nonsense!" Guardromon insisted, "You fought well, and deserve a rest." There was new warmth in Guardromon's voice. Impmon frowned, not sure of what to make of that.

"Looks like Guardromon's good karma is paying off!" Guilmon murmured as they walked.

Impmon sniffed loudly. "Enough already with the karma," he muttered.

* * *

><p>The fort was built on a slab-like island of grays stone backed by jagged slate hills out on a murky lake. A ring of torches surrounded the perimeter like the world's most hazardous garden hedge. It was much bigger than he'd previously thought it'd be, squarely built of wood and stone. A drawbridge loomed skyward, nearly as tall as the watchtowers that flanked it, bound by sturdy iron chains. The drawbridge itself had several deep gouges raked through it, and the chains had the cobbly look of having been seriously damaged before.<p>

The senior Geckomon shouted up at the Geckomon operating the drawbridge and introduced them as "Guardromon and his companions". This was followed by a flurry of militant activity, barked orders and the slow, laborious lowering of the drawbridge.

"Things have gotten bad, haven't they?" asked Guardromon mournfully.

"You have no idea!" the senior Geckomon leading them in exclaimed. "That Puppetmon sends them to harass and kill our people all the time, but we're not taking it lying down anymore! Our King makes sure of that!"

Impmon frowned. He'd always thought of Geckomon as squishy green pushovers. Their general idea of an attack was singing a bad note at someone. This seemed weird for them. But then, he'd sure never seen Geckomon with _spears_.

But mention of a Puppetmon made nearly everyone start. _"Puppetmon?"_ Renamon asked, eyes narrowing. "There's a Puppetmon in those woods?"

"That's who they must have meant when Cherrymon mentioned a boss," Impmon mused.

The senior Geckomon flinched, eyes wide. He had the look of someone who'd said too much, but before anyone could start to grill him about what was going on and why these idiots had built a fort in the middle of a nasty Mega's territory, a Geckomon wearing a blue tabard flanked by two Otamamon dashed out to meet them.

He introduced himself as the Steward, and thanked them all profusely for their efforts, and asked them to follow him to their accommodations, while the patrol that led them here dispersed and marched off.

The inside of the fort was Spartan full of ptrong, straight edges that sent a shiver running down Impmon's spine. Inside, packs of Geckomon and Otamamon marched around in orderly lines, and it was creeping him the heck out. It seemed kind of unnatural.

He shook his head vigorously. He didn't like to think he shared any opinions with Cherrymon!

"Shouldn't we ask him about the Puppetmon?" Guilmon whispered.

"Well, they don't really wanna talk about it, so maybe now's not the time?"

"Bad manners…"

"We don't really have guest quarters, but we hope this will do for now,"

Impmon didn't have a clue of what he was talking about, and the sight of their accommodation dashed any thoughts of Cherrymon from his mind. The room before them was warm, gently lit and the wooden floor neatly covered with rush mats that smelled lightly of dried herbs. In the center, a bunch of pillowy bedding had been neatly arranged.

Compared to the cold, pungent mud outside, this was heaven. It was all Impmon and the others could do not to collapse in an undignified heap. He suddenly felt kind of dirty and claustrophobic. This had been the first time in a very long time since any of them had been inside a building.

The Steward guy or whatever informed them that there was a bath down the hall, and they had this time to rest and do as they please. Maybe in response to the stomachs growling in unison, he added that dinner would be served in a few hours.

"A few hours?" Calumon groaned.

"My stomach will have eaten itself by then," Terriermon added.

Impmon frowned at Calumon. "What about that plum-thing I—"

Calumon's look of vague confusion in response to this and awkward silence that followed made him sit up.

"Plum-thing?" Calumon asked.

Impmon jolted. Aw, _nuts_. Renamon shook her head imperceptibly. Renamon had set it by Calumon's side, and the little guy probably hadn't even noticed as they'd probably stampeded out of camp like the forest was on fire. He may not have even been fully awake when that happened.

Embarrassed, he flopped backwards onto the soft bedding and stared determinedly at the ceiling, trying to stifle the blush of embarrassment setting fire to his face. "Ahh, just forget about it."

"Ugh, Impmon, get off the bed, you're covered in muck!"

"Wait—hey, get off me!"

It was swiftly decided that good manners and good hygiene trumped exhaustion in this case, and the group trundled off towards the bath. Impmon fought for a little while, but it was when Renamon made a gesture that suggested she was simply going to grab him and drag him along, he composed himself and stomped irritably after everyone.

Maybe it won't be so bad, he told himself. Everyone says its great or whatever—

However, as soon as they slid the door open to the bath area, Impmon almost fled. It was fairly big with rough stone floors. Up against the wall, were these little shower cubicle things. But at the end of the room, there was another door, through which a plume of white steam curled through. _Hot waer!_

There were even little baskets and cubby holders for "clothing items". After watching Renamon remove her sleeve-thingies, Impmon reluctantly peeled his gloves off—the right was all but entirely shredded now—and unknotted his scarf before placing them in the little basket. The fabric was tattered, and stiff with muck and dirt. Ugh, even he had to admit this was three kinds of nasty.

Not one of the Digimon had ever been in what humans would call a "bathhouse", so Terriermon and Renamon kind of inferred the rules based on what their Tamers had described to them. Apparently, you had to scrub off and get clean before getting into the big tub thing.

This proved to be easier said than done. Even after vigorously trying to scrub the dirt out of his fur—which was harder, because his fur was very dense and close, and worst of all, very dark, which meant that unless the crud was in his face fur, the only real indicator of how dirty he'd been was the brownish soap froth seeping into the drain.

"Okay," he announced. After his initial flailing, he wanted to prove he wasn't a chicken by being the first the venture into the _boiling cauldron_ in the next room. "You guys are slow. I'm going on ahead—"

"Impmon, you didn't get your back."

Actually, no one got their backs. The only one who had arms that could reach their back properly was Renamon, so the grand entrance into the bath area was delayed.

Initially, he didn't want anyone touching his back because he knew whichever fool was going to be his "buddy" right now,—he could have smacked Guilmon for insisting on the buddy system to wash each other's backs—which of course was Terriermon, of course, was going to result in,

"OW! That hurts!"

"Heh, sorry about that!" there was no malice in Terriermon's voice, but there rarely was, but some of the stuff he did and said… "Didn't think you were so sensitive."

"I'm not!" Impmon growled. "Ouch!"

Terriermon was dragging a rough sponge around on his back, and aggravating Impmon's neat ridge of still puffy, tender scars.

But Impmon bit the inside of his mouth and bided his time, because after a sort while, it was his turn.

"Okay, Terriermon, hold still. Boy, your face is covered in dirt. I've got me a nice sponge here to fix that! Ahahahahaha!"

"Aaaagh, stop, you're getting soap in my eyes!"

"Come back here, you're still not done!"

Calumon perched on the edge of the shower cubicle.

"Impmon and Terriermon do sure seem to be having a lot of fun. Woah!" The bar soap and water bowl went flying and nearly hit Calumon in the face. Even so, the little Digimon toppled backwards, only for Renamon to catch him and decide that everyone was clean enough.

Impmon frowned suspiciously at the bath. Everyone else hard already climbed in with happy sighs. He didn't get to deliberate long. He leaned forward to test the water with his toe, but ended up slipping off the edge and plunging in.

The water was hot—hotter than he expected. It stung his raw scars and stole his breath. Instinctively he tried to clamber out using the first thing he touched. This turned out to be Guardromon's now boiling hot metal side. He splashed away, grabbing clumps of Renamon's fur and climbing up onto the back of her neck.

"How can you all stand this? It's like being cooked alive!"

He was assured that "it takes a little while to get used to it". Renamon told him that it would probably make him feel better if he just tried to relax and enjoy the warm water. It would probably be the last time they got it before they returned home.

Impmon might have refused altogether. However, he saw Terriermon, floating around lazily on his back. He narrowed his eyes. He could swear he saw a challenge somewhere in the floating fat-sack's…floating. If Terriermon could handle it, so could he!

He plunged back into the water and tensed against the initial discomfort, trying to ignore the prickly heat feeling in the tip of his tail and toes. But after a while, Renamon turned out to be right. His muscles loosened, and he found his grip on the sides of the bath slipping a little as his eyelids grew heavy. The aches and pains he'd accumulated seemed to drain away. Even his scars, which had been achy, seemed to disappear.

He could actually get used to this.

"So, Guardromon," Renamon asked after a while. "What exactly happened?"

"Oh, right!" Guardromon said, as if startled out of thought. "I forgot we haven't told you about all that yet.

"Well, while Impmon and I were scouting, he heard a scream. I wasn't convinced at first, but…"

Impmon—who'd practically been dozing off at that point—opened his eyes. He glanced over to Guardromon, who was now proceeding with the story, and then to his own reflection, undulating in the water. _That's not true_, he thought. _He was testing me_.

Maybe it was the water, because he didn't stop Guardromon to point this out.

He did interrupt later at one point to tell everyone that the Geckomon _had_ eaten mushrooms of forgetfulness, so they couldn't make fun of him on that point and that he was in fact, brilliant and people should take his word for things.

However, he couldn't help but note that Guardromon was paying special attention to his role in events. Normally, he wouldn't have minded. He might have relished it, even. But…

"Finally, Impmon threatened Cherrymon that he would Digivolve and destroy them, and—"

Impmon made a dismissive noise. "Ehhh, scared 'em off, didn't it? Gave you guys the chance to show up!"

"Did you try to digivolve?" Renamon asked him quietly. Impmon glared at her.

"Of course I did! But we all know that hasn't exactly been workin' out for me, now, hasn't it?"

"I wonder why…" Terriermon mused thoughtfully. "I mean, you digivovled on your own at least twice, right?"

"How should I know?" Impmon muttered irritably, looking away. He couldn't help but remember Cherrymon's words:

_Even if you could at some point, you haven't it in you right now. Too many skeletons in your little soul._

"I mean, I met up with my Tamers before I went into Blast Mode for the first time, but after that…"

"You were with me!" Calumon piped up. "It was amazing!"

"But you didn't digiolve me." Calumon's ears shrunk back into his head.

"No…"

"Maybe he should try?" Guardromon put forth.

Calumon shrunk back a little further. "I don't think that's such a good idea," he said, wringing his hands.

"Me neither," Guilmon agreed. Impmon couldn't argue with that. Trying to force digivolution hadn't really worked out for any of the parties that had tried it thus far.

"I'm not in favor of the idea myself, but why do you think that?" Terriermon asked.

"I just have a feeling…that it would be a really bad idea," Calumon finally said.

"He is probably right," Lopmon said. "Zhuqiamon gave him the ability to digivolve on his own power. He created all the Devas. Some of us he simply created, like Mukuramon—others, like myself, were created off the data of an already existing species."

"So perhaps Zhuqiaomon modified his data somehow to make that possible, but that doesn't explain why he can't do digivolve now…" Terriermon said thoughtfully. "Hey, Impmon, have you felt sick since getting here?"

"No, I don't feel sick, but I've got some questions of my own if you all don't mind," Impmon said loudly. Cherrymon's words were ringing louder and louder in his head as the conversation rolled on. He didn't like everyone focusing on his problems. They already did that enough, and it's not like he could get away from it now. "Those jokers thought that if they loaded our data, they'd somehow be able to get to the Real World. What's up with that? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"It's a fairly common sentiment," Renamon sighed.

"But it's stupid!" Impmon protested.

"If it is permissible for me to say," Lompmon began, "it really is not."

Impmon curled his lip at her. "How's that?"

"Well, when one loads another in battle, the victorious party gains the strength of the defeated. Some Digimon even gain access to the defeated party's attacks after loading."

Impmon flinched.

Lopmon continued, "So, it is a logical assumption that one who loads a Digimon who has been to the Real World would grant the loader the power to do the same." Lopmon paused. "I believe that's the reason people think that."

Impmon rested his chin in his hand. Couldn't really argue with that…

"Maybe that's why Cherrymon didn't want to load us," Guardromon said.

"What?" Renamon's ears perked.

"He mentioned something about his boss, the stupid hypocrite," Impmon tapped the water thoughtfully. The other thing that was bothering him about what Cherrymon said is the fact he had called him a "guilty killer". How had he known that? Was it really possible to tell such a thing just by looking? "That must be Puppetmon or whatever."

"If he wanted you two alive, that must mean he wanted to load you two himself and go to the Real World," Terriermon frowned. "Which means that by staying here, we're putting all of these Geckomon in danger!"

Impmon snorted, stirring the water with his tail. "I'm beginnin' to sense an ulterior motive," he muttered, but before he could elaborate.

"Impmon, you don't know anything about these guys and they didn't ask for help on the way in. Do you always have to assume the worst about people?" Terriermon asked.

Impmon bristled. "None of us know anything about these guys! Look at Guardromon—since we've got here he's been nothin' but surprised at everything we've seen so far, so you'd better can it, fatty."

"Are you trying to start something?" Terriermon started to rise a little bit out of the water. Impmon for his turn started to get up as well, but any potential scuffle was quickly defused by Calumon.

"Woahhh!" Calumon cried. He'd circled around behind Impmon. "Your scars are really pink and puffy!"

"Hey, get off my head, you cream puff!" Impmon snarled. He wasn't angry so much as he was reacting. "And don't poke 'em, that hurts!"

"Yeah, Impmon's sensitive!" Terriermon quipped.

"Look, you—"

He was cut off by the sudden _click-click_ sound of claws on stone. Everyone perked up at the sound.

A little Otamamon crawled into the room. She seemed surprised that everyone was already looking in her direction as she entered. She bashfully informed them that she was just here for the clothing baskets, with plans to launder them. On her way out she told them that dinner was going to be ready soon, and that the King Geckomon was very happy to be receiving them.

"King Geckomon?" Guardromon said. "Things have changed around here…" he sounded almost disappointed.

After the Otamamon left, Guilmon suggested that they simply talk to the Geckomon King at dinner and figure things out from there. Soon, people started leaving the bath in order to go dry off. Impmon was reluctant to go. He was comfortable in the warm water, and not interested in the cold he knew he would be feeling immediately after getting out, or more conversation with the others.

Eventually, it was only him and Renamon left.

They both enjoyed the stillness in companionable silence, taking in the quiet and peace. Both of them understood at least one some level that there wouldn't be much of it in the days to come.

Surprisingly enough, it was she who broke the silence.

"They meant well, you know."

"Eh?" Impmon had been distracting himself from his own thoughts by swirling around clumps of Renamon's shed hair.

"Everyone is trying to cope and learn at the same time, so don't be too hard on them."

Impmon bristled. "Who said they're makin' me feel bad? I didn't. Don't make this about me, I'm fine."

"You also shouldn't be so hard on yourself." She opened her eyes and stared at him levelly. Impmon stopped swirling the hairs and glared at her.

"Why not?" he growled at her.

She didn't growl back, but her voice had the quality of frosty gravel.

"You saved two lives today."

Impmon snorted.

"Are you outta your little mind? We were lucky I didn't get us killed. If you guys hadn't shown up we woulda been toast." He chuckled darkly and started to swirl the hairs again. "Some hero I am. Not like I don't have a history of this sorta thing blowing up in my-"

Renamon suddenly stood up, sending a wave lapping against his face. He coughed and spluttered as she exited the back and headed for her towel.

"Hey—"

She stopped him dead. Her eyes were focused—but instead of a steely expression that he learned meant _grow the hell up_, he saw…

He blinked stupidly. He wasn't sure what he saw, but he didn't know if he liked it.

They reminded him of the eyes she had when she and Rika rescued him out in the desert a lifetime ago.

With that, she left the room, claws clicking on the stone floor, leaving a trail of cold water.

* * *

><p>The food at dinner was simple—if he hadn't been so hungry, Impmon might have even called it sparse—but it was presented with such gratitude and warmth of the part of their hosts, it seemed a sumptuous feast. There was warm rice, gently steamed vegetables, noodles and even a little fish (he kinda liked his fish raw, but whatever sauce they cooked it in reminded him of civilization, which was nice). But at least there was enough of it for everyone in the group to have seconds—and given how hungry and relatively weak they were, it was nothing if not a blessing.<p>

Afterwards, they were summoned to what looked like some kind of great hall. The Steward informed them that, "The King would see them now,"

"Well, it sure isn't just him," Impmon muttered. The room was slowly filling up with other Geckomon and Otamamon, all sitting down along the sides of a hall. "What the heck is all this about?"

The Steward let them towards the back of the chamber. On a low dais of bright, polished wood was a very simple, minimalist throne-chair, but it was unmistakably a throne, flanked by two other attendants. Seated on the throne-chair was a Geckomon, gripping a staff in one scarred hand.

And that wasn't the only part of him that was scared. Fading, jagged scars had torn their way across his flesh, leaving him looking strangely mottled at any distance. The green of his flesh seemed lighter, and the skin around his eyes weary and tired. However, those weird, manic Geckomon eyes seemed to gleam with a banked passion, an alien clarity that was absent from pretty much every other Geckomon in the room.

Everyone in the group dipped their head to the King as if on cue. Impmon was a little behind the curve and bowed hastily a beat after everyone else.

"No need for that," the King said, waving a hand dismissively. "You're my guests. Please, sit," he gestured at a set of cushions that had been arranged on the dais in front of the throne.

"Um, King, sir," Guilmon began. "I'm sure I've heard your voice before, but—"

"Of course you do! It's been a long time since Orochimon's days, but not that long. I was the head of the village then, and that much hasn't changed. I'm not as pretty as I used to be, but I can assure you that my people and I are much stronger. In part, thanks to you and your friends. I want to thank you again for stepping in to rescue two of our number. How are you enjoying our hospitality? Is everything to your liking?"

They assured him it was. Impmon was already bored and a little confused. Renamon, Guilmon and Guardromon (and Leomon, Leomon had been a part of that group, too…) had all been here before at some point—they'd liberated this bunch from some bully of an Ultimate, so of course they'd be treated like friends. Of course, had he been a part of that group, perhaps he would have been able to appreciate the magnitude of the change in the Geckomon.

"Good, good…" the King nodded appreciatively. "But I do notice your humans are missing, but you seem to have acquired other members. Not all of them have been lost to the Chaos, have they?"

Renamon hastily assured them that this was not the case, and asked him how he knew. He coughed.

"The Chaos came. And many of us were summoned the fight it. I myself was digvolved to ShogunGeckomon, and battled against it. I sustained terrible wounds, and these scars are what remain." He gestured to himself. "But I was lucky. Many, many Digimon and even small worlds perished at the edge of Chaos.

But we have you to thank for its welcome defeat. The Sovereign have sent your story out across the layers of the Digital World, although specifics weren't included. Where are your humans now?"

"We seek to reunite with them. It's on this journey that we stumbled into your territory once again," Guardromon said.

The King nodded. "We thank you again for your struggle and sacrifice. You have saved the worlds."

A rumble of assent rose in a wave from the assembled Geckomon. The King continued.

"But our world, which was already savage, has only become more so. So much was destroyed, my friends. So many were sucked up and destroyed. Our world is not only savage, but desperate. So we built this fortress and forsook our peaceful ways in order to protect ourselves and our resources." He sighed.

"From the likes of the Puppetmon and his minions?" Renamon supplied.

The Geckomon King looked a little uncomfortable. He scratched his belly and closed his eyes. "Puppetmon, a Cherrymon and their Woodmon came here when we were still early in the stages of building this fort. We would occasionally exchange information, but left each other in peace for the most part. We heard stories of Puppetmon and his ilk marauding around the edges of the woods, but didn't interfere. We'd had the good luck for him to leave us alone, no need to draw attention now. But upon finishing the fort, he started sending his Woodmon out to attack periodically—and the attacks have only increased in frequency at time has passed. We don't know what he wants, but any attempt to talk has been met with violence."

Guilmon looked over his shoulder. Renamon followed his eyes, but it was Guardromon who spoke, "They are greater in number than your people, now. The Woodmon."

Impmon took note of the crowd. The Geckomon and Otamamon sat in neat rows, but in almost all the rows, there were little breaks that suggested an empty space. He got the impression of a half-eaten box of chocolates.

The Geckomon King made a gesture as though was trying to wave away his story. "Enough of that. We'll discuss that later." He opened his eyes. "I have a favor to ask of you."

Impmon, instantly alert and wary looked up.

"One hears nothing more than terrible tales of tyrants and bullies the likes of which not even Orochimon and Puppetmon approach. We are weary of such tales of darkness and cruelty, even in as merciless as ours. Would you honor us with tales of heroes, and give us something to sing about once more?"

* * *

><p>Cherrymon hated this bulky form. No matter where he went he always left a significant trial and crackly noise. He was never without something scraping against his canopy. Although he guessed he didn't mind that part so much. He liked the feeling of dead foliage breaking against his bark and snapping into ash.<p>

Either way, it wouldn't be a problem for very much longer. In the Real World, there might just be a chance for him to digivolve again with the help of a human Tamer.

Puppetmon hadn't and wouldn't punish him for losing one of the Woodmon in the fight earlier. The information that was gleaned from the situation was so much more valuable.

Although he did wish that Puppetmon could talk to him where he could see. He didn't like talking to a gangly red-eyed shadow crouched up in huge dead tree above.

This was a good spot, because based on the tracks and the smell of smoke nearby, that that Impmon and his friends had been here.

"This is a good tree," Puppetmon said. "It's dead, and from the top you can see for just about forever. I'll bet it's so tall that if it fell over one day, it might even reach the Geckomon fort."

"You're probably right."

"So. How many were there?"

"It was hard to tell with all the Geckomon, but I think there were eight of them. I think it's a pretty safe bet that they've all been the Real World." This was something he knew based on looking at the Impmon and the Guardromon alone. There was something off in their eyes, something he could see very well—something alien in the ways that they moved and even fought that you didn't see in the average Digimon.

He was a Cherrymon, and he could tell these things. Eyes were the window to the soul. He wasn't sure where that thought came from, but from wherever it was, Cherrymon found it to be a reliable adage, and he himself was a fantastic judge of character. "So that means we only need two of 'em."

"That's not what it means at all, you idiot!" Puppetmon shrilled from the tree above. "Do you wanna know what that really means?"

"What?"

The smile in Puppetmon's voice was unmistakable. "What it means is that we get four of them each! I like the sound of that a lot better."

Cherrymon frowned. "Listen, Puppetmon," he said, curling both hands. "Not all of them should be taken that lightly. I know I said that most were rookies, but they've got a MarineAngemon and this weird demon dinosaur Digimon I've never seen before." He paused. "All I can tell you is that he's a Virus type like us, and that one blast from his attack incinerated one of the Woodmon. He could be trouble. Aside from that…" he hesitated. He wondered if it was worth bothering Puppetmon about that weird little Impmon, but he didn't get to hesitate long.

A sudden clacking noise followed by Puppetmon's cherry-red eyes in his face made him flinch backwards, but he held his ground.

"What else, Cherrymon? You're not hiding anything, are you?"

"Well, the Impmon that was with the Guardromon. He threatened to digivolve and blow us all away. He had these great big scars down his back, so I'm sure he's done it before. You remember when the Youngest was killed?"

Cherrymon braced himself. He knew that Puppetmon didn't like talking about the days when all of them were hopeless Woodmon stomping around on that barren upper layer, and then later three randomly digivolved, hopeless Cherrymon doing the same until this Beelzemon roared out of nowhere on some mechanical monster, guns blazing. Puppetmon preferred to think their history started after the two of them were digivolved and summoned to fight the Chaos.

"Yeah? Good riddance, too, I'd have loaded that weakling myself if that lunatic hadn't shown up. Scars, you say." He made a motion of stroking his chin as if in deep thought. Cherrymon made sure his face was carefully blank for this façade, but if he'd felt a little bolder, he might have rolled his eyes.

"So, if that's the Impmon, why didn't he digivolve and blow you all up if he thinks he can?"

"That's just it, I don't think he can." This is where Cherrymon allowed himself a small smile. "See, boss, I think the little guy feels _bad_ about killing. I could see it, in his big green eyes. There's the ghost of someone he's loaded in there. He can't do it."

Puppetmon immediately froze. He twitched.

"Guilty?" he repeated. "About _killing?_ About loading an enemy? About getting stronger?"

He stood up with a clatter and skittered up higher on a branch, staring out at what Cherrymon knew to be the direction of the fortress.

"A Demon Lord Digimon like that, guilty about success at being a Digimon? That's disgusting! And those slimy idiots are giving shelter to that kind of trash? Ha!" He bounced on the branch, causing a rain of charcoaly dead leaves to rain down on Cherrymon and the assembled Woodmon lurking at the edges of the clearing.

"It's like those Geckomon are begging me to knock down that silly little fort of theirs. Well, I can't turn a blind eye to that kinda depravity anymore!"

Puppetmon didn't sound angry. He was laughing his head off, practically dancing with glee. When something angered Puppetmon, his mood turned violent, and when he was violent, he was happy. The Woodmon had better keep their mouths shut now.

"So…if we could have stormed that fort at any time, why haven't we already done that and loaded all the Geckomon?" A Woodmon whispered to his neighbor. Puppetmon evidently heard this as well, turning sharply.

"Who said that?"

A hush fell on the clearing. Puppetmon dropped to the ground with a light thud, and began to stroll around. The Woodmon shrank back, but they didn't dare run.

"I'll tell you why," he purred, twirling his hammer. He suddenly settled on a group of Woodmon, clustered not too far from the base of the massive dead tree and hopped onto one of the low hanging branches, so quickly that you barely saw him move. "Think of it this way. You're at the beach and you see a bunch of little digimon building sandcastles. Now, when I see sandcastles, the first thing I want to do is _stomp right through them._ But stomping little sandcastles are no fun. So instead of stomping them right there, I'd wait. I'd wait and wait until that sandcastle was nice and tall, all decorated with seashells and shiny rocks. And when the little guy who built it stands back to admire his pretty sandcastle all bright-eyed and proud of himself—that's when you do _THIS!"_

In the blink of an eye, he flipped off the branch and swung the hammer. For a microsecond it looked like he was about to smash one of the Woodmon into splintery bits, but instead, he averted the blow at the last second and hit the tree.

With an earsplitting snap, the tree cracked. Slowly, slowly, it started to fall in the direction of the Geckomon fort. It rattle and rumbled, branches raining down thought the fragile canopy, groaning as it went as if in pain, until it finally thundered to the ground with a massive, distant crunching sound.

The silence hung still and stiff in the air only for a second before Puppetmon turned to face his men.

"But we don't get to wait for that moment. I was hoping they'd build that thing up a little taller, but we don't have time for that anymore. Opportunity knocks!" he started to laugh again. This time, the Woodmon nervously joined in.

"Cherrymon, start heading to the fort, but don't attack," Puppetmon instructed, climbing up one of the trees again.

"Why not?" Cherrymon asked. "Because I wanna _talk _to them first, silly. Get going, I'll catch up with you in a minute."

Puppetmon couldn't smile, but there was a devious sting in his voice that was probably the closest thing he could get to it.

* * *

><p>Impmon tried to enjoy the stories at first. After all, many of them were good stories. Of course, there was that whole bit in the middle…involving him, carnage, attempted murder, <em>murder<em>…before he rediscovered Ai and Mako…and then the stuff that happened after Ai and Mako…

Even what happened this evening was a bust.

He tried not to shift too much, but he was dimly aware of his tail twitching almost every time someone mentioned his names.

He burned with shame, as they skirted around the issue. Since everyone was telling stories, it basically came down to paying very close attention to each other, in case someone mentioned a potentially humiliating, shameful detail.

All of it surrounding him, of course.

A couple of times, everyone could tell that Terriermon was about to say something, before someone maybe-not-so-subtly poked him, or gave him a look. Terriermon, for his part, started to get visibly irritated, but Impmon wasn't paying attention to the other Digimon, or anything really for that matter.

He knew he was sweating—he could feel it beading under his fur. Heck, he wouldn't be surprised if he was literally steaming with shame at this point.

_Maybe I should say something_. He felt dishonest, and dirty, even though they'd literally all just come out of the bath. But listening to this felt almost like he was hearing for the filth in his soul.

_You can't digivolve. Too many skeletons in your little soul…I can tell just by lookin' at you._

_I know your type._

_Guilty killer._

They'd left all the worst parts of his contributions to the overall narratives out.

Impmon frowned. On a greater, darker level…what became of his story if you left all that stuff out?

You couldn't.

He balled his fists.

_What I did was unforgivable. No matter what I do I can't change the past…_

But he had been forgiven.

And who was he without his failures?

It seemed like omitting them from the story seemed like they took him out entirely—

"Each of you played a part; each of you has a grand, shining story. We thank you for them all. I can't ask all of you to speak, we don't have time for all of them tonight, for you more than anyone deserve a rest. But Impmon,"

At the sound of his name Impmon tore himself from his thoughts and looked up, blinking owlishly,

"I see that you bear scars from your battle with the Chaos. Few Digimon sustain that type of wound and survive. You have demonstrated your heroic nature tonight with our comrades in the forest tonight. Would you tell us the story of the scars on your back?"

Such a situation would normally call for an articulate response, so of course, he could only manage an intelligent, "I—uh…uhh…"

This was it. He would tell it. He wasn't sure how he was going to, but to not respond would be filthy and dishonest, and all these half-truths were making his head light. Gah, he preferred a straight-up lie to what he was hearing. He started to stand up, when Terriermon spoke.

"Impmon doesn't want to tell that story. It's still kinda soon for him."

Impmon jerked his head to look at Terriermon, eyes wide. The little brat was staring determinedly at the King, wearing that same blasé expression he always had on his face, with those shining, clear black eyes. "He's a little sensitive."

Guardromon immediately leaped to the up to the storytelling plate, eager to rush said awkward out of the room by offering to recap the story of how they and the Geckomon became friends through the defeat of Orochimon in grand style, to the appreciative "aahhs" and applause of the Geckomon.

He began talking, his voice echoing and ringing around the room. Impmon glared at Terriermon with the fury of several dozen overheating Playstations and hissed at him, "I never asked you to cover for me!"

Terriermon hissed right back out of the corner of his mouth. "Sure you did. You didn't have to verbalize it for everyone to start doing it."

"That ain't fair! You can't hold me accountable for something I didn't do!"

"And apparently we can't hold you accountable for the stuff you _did _do!"

The applause and cheers receiving the end of Guardromon's tale covered up the snarl of rage that ripped out of Impmon's throat, but both of them found it in themselves to cram it in for a few seconds as the King Geckomon started to speak.

A few seconds.

"Truly a heroic tale." The King Geckomon sniffed, teary from the telling. "We are in the company of legends tonight. It is a shame that we do not have all the participants of that day here with us tonight…Leomon's death will not go unmourned. He like so many, claimed by the Chaos…"

"He wasn't killed by the Chaos." Terriermon blurted. There was a sharp intake of breath, not just on the part of the assembled crowd, but on the part of the partners as well.

"He was defeated by another Digimon? That…is truly a tragedy. I take it he was avenged? Who killed him?"

Impmon gulped. He had to speak, or he'd not just be a murderer, but a two-faced coward as well. He could feel every eye on his room, especially Terriermon's boring holes into his scarred back.

Impmon stood up. He felt strangely numb. He saw Renamon and the others finch. He thought he saw her move out of the corner of his eye, as if to reach out her hand. He saw her mouth move, but the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

"I did."

A hush crashed onto the hall like a ton of bricks.

The voice of the Geckomon King was like a hand that weakly struggled out of the pile of bricks.

"_What? _But—"

"But nothing!" Impmon burst out. "That 'Cat Deva' everyone kept mentioning! That was _me! _I tried to kill everyone here in exchange for the power to digivolve, loaded hundreds of other Digimon, and then I killed Leomon! I killed him, and it's because of me that the Chaos managed to get as strong as it did—because Jeri didn't have a partner to protect her! Remember Jeri? You remember her, that sweet little girl, a little girl who wouldn't even hurt a flea! I killed her partner and absorbed his data, and she was left without anyone to protect her." His voice cracking now and he just did not care, "You wanna know my scar story, Chief?" he turned around to show his back to the King and then the aghast audience. "This is what I got for trying to make what I did right again. I tried to save her, and I _failed! _And how did I survive, you ask?"

Lopmon whispered something, but he couldn't hear.

"I dunno, destiny's idea of a joke, I guess!" he spat out the last words. "So I'm not a hero! I'm the furthest thing from it." he turned to Terriermon and leveled him with a withering gaze.

Terrieron stood up and hopped over to where Impmon was standing. "Don't go getting mad at me. You didn't have to say anything. But you did, because all these half-truths and lies we were telling on your behalf were weighing on your underdeveloped excuse for conscience. You're only upset because everything you just said is _true!"_

"_You think I need you to tell me that? GAHH!" _Something inside him snapped. He punched Terriermon full in the face, putting every ounce of fury and strength he could muster into a single blow. It barely made Terriermon stagger of course, but it was something.

Terriermon caught him completely by surprise by hitting back. He caught him straight in the chin with a ridiculous amount of force despite his tiny frame, making him bite his tongue—and before Impmon could even hit the ground, _"Terrier Tornado!"_

The crowd gasped. The blast of air sent him careening halfway across the hall to crash into the aisle, causing his vision to blur for a second, but it didn't matter. The second his eyes refocused enough to distinguish one shape from another, Terriermon was already mid-attack and heading straight for him, tiny fists balled.

He hit Impmon in the gut this time, sending him skidding hard on his side. Impmon snarled and dragged himself to his feet only for Terriermon to pin him heavily again, sitting on his chest with his little claws, rarely used, prepared to strike. Impmon struggled and managed to grab Terriermon's hand before the jerk could take a chunk out of his ear, but it was only a matter of time—he was outclassed, and he knew it.

"_TERRIERMON, IMPMON, NO!" _Guilmon cried. But his cry was drowned out by a thunderous crash and the groaning of the roof as a huge dead tree tore through the great hall's ceiling like tissue paper.

The Geckomon screamed and ran towards the throne area, still intact as chunks of wood and stone hailed down on the aisle. Terriermon and Impmon could only stare at the impending trunk as it crashed down towards them, its shadow looming—Impmon could practically feel the twigs sticking into his eyes—

They were suddenly caught up in a furry embrace and yanked to safety. Renamon crouched over them both protectively, out of harm's way as the tree finally smashed to the floor, cracking the stone and sending up a storm of white dust.

The silence was absolute.

Only when the dust started clearing did it seem that people started to breathe again. There were the shouts and calls of, "Are you okay?" and "Is anybody hurt?" and the "What just happened?"

People were starting to rally and begin clean up and investigation when Impmon finally pushed himself off the floor, spitting dust and rocks out of his mouth.

Terriermon was already standing.

Before either of them could say anything, Renamon loomed over them. Impmon was taken aback. Renamon never _loomed._

"Are either of you hurt?"

The answer was "not really". The scuffle hadn't been a bad one, and neither of them were even bleeding, the sting of the blows traded already having faded. The blow to pride, well…

"Then you should both leave. Go up to the battlements and keep watch."

"What?" Impmon protested. He didn't really relish the idea of helping with the cleanup, and in fact he didn't really want to face anyone in this building right now—but he wasn't going to let them thing he was murderous, cowardly _and _lazy.

"Shouldn't we ought to help down here?" Terriermon asked. "And don't be covering for Impmon anymore—I think he's made it pretty clear that—"

"_Terriermon._" The force in Renamon's voice cut Terriermon right off mid-sentence. "_Both _of you have done quite enough for one night."

The cold disappointment radiated from her eyes, bright in the torchlight, like angry starfire, and Impmon found himself cowed. Terriermon for his part was stiff, surprised—maybe even confused. Had Impmon been less furious and embarrassed, he might have allowed himself a tiny smirk.

Terriermon had never been scolded by Renamon before.

Someone was calling Renamon's name.

"Hurry and go." She instructed.

"H-hey, wait," Terriermon stammered. "What are you going to do?" Renamon glanced over her shoulder.

"Damage control." Was all she said before walking away. She never bothered to look back.

* * *

><p>With plans to have words with both miscreants later, Renamon returned to the Guilmon and the others. They asked her where they'd gone, and she explained to them her solution. Impmon and Terriermon's continued presence down here would be at best a distraction from the clean-up effort and at worst outright conflict with the locals. This way, they were removed from the area, and put to good use elsewhere.<p>

Impmon had excellent night-eyes. Putting him up on the battlements meant that if what she suspected was true and the dead treefall was not an accident, he would spot the trouble coming before it got here. Terriermon could provide second witness and had the added advantage of being much stronger than Impmon should things come to a head. Guilmon's buddy policy in effect again.

"Are they both okay?" Guilmon asked, despondent. Renamon nodded.

"They were having so much fun, earlier," Calumon sighed. "What happened?"

Renamon didn't answer immediately. None of the Digimon in their group were types that naturally came together in groups, each belonging to a fairly loner-specific species.

This whole Digimon group aspect was strange to her, and the only thing she had in her arsenal to compare it with was the very humanizing experiences she'd had with Rika and their times together with the other Tamers and their partners.

She'd heard Henry once laugh about how becoming a group was like what he called "growing pains". Curious, she'd asked what that meant.

"_Well, we're not like Digimon, so, I guess you could say that some of the change we go through as we get older is physically painful. My dad says they mean just that—they mean you're growing."_

Maybe that wasn't quite the right analogy. But if you could apply the pain of growth and change to a human child, could it mean that you could apply that logic to a human _group?_ After all, she Rika and the others hadn't started off friends. She and _Rika_ hadn't even started out as friends. It was only with time and much _pain_ (it took a very long time for her to equate anything that wasn't physical injury as pain, but no other descriptor could describe her feelings during the initial stage of her and her Tamer's relationship). So by extension, shouldn't this very human-esque group of theirs run along that branch of logic?

She wondered if maybe, Impmon and Terriermon's fighting was due to a result of simply their natures, personalities bouncing off each other, mutual pain over the loss of their Tamers, or if it was a symptom of the group coming together. Likely a little of all of those things.

"Growing pains," she said at last.

Just then, the Geckomon King appeared out of the clearing dust, flanked by his two aides.

"That blasted tree!" he heaved. "I knew it would just keel over one day, but I never expected that it would crash right through the fort. This is a bad omen, indeed."

"Are you sure it was an accident?" Guilmon tilted his head a little. "I mean, if Puppetmon and his minions have been trying to get in here for a while…?"

The King cleared his throat. "I suppose we must now prepare for that possibility with all haste. I would rather hope that the old thing finally just had it."

"Don't worry, we'll help you out again," Guilmon said. Renamon glanced at him, her tail flicking in mild surprise. Part of her smiled inwardly—Guilmon would commit them to help the Geckomon fight again. It was just in his and Takato's very natures to do so. She herself couldn't imagine leaving at this point, either, even if wasn't the sensible thing to do. None of them did. This of course led to the question of how they were to going to literally fight a demonic forest, but now was not the time to worry about that.

The King sighed heavily. "It was not my wish to involve you in our fights again." He leaned on his staff.

"My good fellow, we simply could not have turned a blind eye!" Guardromon said heartily, echoing Renamon's thoughts. "It is in our very natures."

"Did anybody get hurt?" Guilmon added, stepping forward, gesturing with a heavy claw.

The Geckomon King coughed imperiously. "Well, aside from your two friends, no one so far has turned up injured."

Guilmon swallowed and lifted his head. "We're very sorry about that. I hope we didn't offend you."

"They didn't mean it, honest!" Calumon said.

"Things have been…complicated with them, as of late," Lopmon added, dipping her head a tiny bit.

"I can see that," the King said. "But I have one final question for you, and please understand I ask on Leomon's behalf. How is it that Leomon's killer—"

"Please don't ask that," Calumon broke in suddenly, a tiny whimper in his voice. "Impmon is…really, really sorry. I don't think he could put it into words even if he tried, but it's true."

"But—"

"_Leomon's killer_," Renamon interrupted, "has been punished enough."

Everyone looked in surprise at Renamon, who didn't waver. Her gaze was cold. The King swallowed whatever else he was going to say, and finally nodded.

"Very well." He was curt, and there was a hardness in his voice. But there was that understanding that undoubtedly came with it—something that said _I will trust your judgment._

Without much further banter, the King thanked them again for their help with clearing rubble, and waddled off to help in the effort himself.

"He's kind of a nosy King, isn't he?" Calumon mused after him.

MarineAngemon made an affirmative noise. "Very nosy!"

"At the risk of sounding disrespectful, I think you're right," agreed Lopmon.

"Well, better get started. This is big mess," Guilmon picked up a large chunk of stone.

Renamon followed suit. However, there was a tingling in the fur in her ears, something in the air that made her whiskers twitch. She glanced out the hole in the wall.

* * *

><p>Terriermon stared out across the battlements, into the dark forest. There hadn't been any movement for at least an hour. The sky was dark and muddy gray—he guessed day would be soon, but judging by the gathering clouds, and the wetness in the air, he figured it wouldn't matter. It would be dark tomorrow.<p>

Overhead, the clouds rumbled, growling and threatening rain. He couldn't help but be reminded of the color of Henry's eyes, when he was mad. It made him start to wonder what the sky back at home looked like right now. Was it rainy and cold where Henry was, too?

He sighed, and leaned his chin on the damp battlement stone. He scraped his tiny claws along the edges. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly. His hands were still twitchy from the near-fight, and he wanted to go back downstairs and help instead of being a useless lump out here.

He looked out of the corner of his eye. Impmon had taken his post as far away from him as physically possible, clear on the opposite end of the battlements, resting his elbows on the edge. That Impmon. It was his entire fault, and he couldn't say anything to deny it.

"I hope you're proud of yourself," a disapproving voice said behind him. Terriermon flinched and turned around, to see Guardromon standing there.

"Proud of myself?" Terriermon responded.

"That's right. I just wanted to express my disappointment. Your behavior was shameful and unnecessary."

"Don't tell me you don't think he deserves it," Terriermon snapped back. "Even he'll tell you that he does. And since when was telling the truth a bad thing?"

"That may be," Guardromon granted. "But in the spirit of teamwork, shouldn't we try to extend the hand of grace? After all, it is the hand that Jeri extended."

Terriermon didn't say anything.

Guardromon's eyes softened a little. "He has a good heart. I've seen it. It beats for justice, just as yours does. Why do you think he spoke up in front of all those people?"

"You already know why I think he 'fessed up," Terriermon retorted, but Guardromon's words made an uncomfortable amount of sense. "So are you just up here to lecture me or am I allowed to go back down stairs?"

"The former, I'm afraid," Guardromon replied, turning to go. "But I can't really tell you what to do, now can I?"

He disappeared back down the flight of stairs leading up.

Terriermon blinked. He did have a point. No one had the right to tell him what to do! He never listened to anyone except Henry!

All the same, he didn't leave.

* * *

><p>Impmon was tired.<p>

I mean, come on, save a couple of dumb palookas in the forest, walk a couple of miles to the fort, eat for the first time in weeks, tell stories for who-knows-how-long, get into a fistfight with Terriermon and have that old dead tree explode the room—that's gonna take its toll. Especially without a wink of sleep.

He'd lost pretty much all track of time, but it seemed like this night was dragging on for freakin' _ever_. Or maybe the day had already come, and it was just too dark to tell.

In the real world, there would have been a slight lightening of the sky in a corner, and there'd be the tiniest tingling in the sensitive skin around his nose.

But of course, here, everything was dry. Almost like a dream. Even the guts in your body and the wetness of the ground and the air were only about as real as a movie…ahhh, just thinking about it made his head hurt.

He grabbed his head and massaged his forehead and face, as though he could rub out the disconcerting train of thought and that annoying feeling that his ears and mouth were full of cotton and blinking was getting to be sticky.

He actually kind of wanted to take another bath and just go to sleep.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Terriermon, flopping around boredly on the edge of the battlements. Maybe he could try and make himself angry at him again. That would give him energy again pronto, but as hard as he tried, the best he could manage was a heavy cold feeling with the inevitability of concrete. Disgruntled, he rested his chin in his hand and looked away.

_The only reason you're upset is because everything you just said is _true!

_He's got that right_, he admitted bitterly to himself, tapping his tail against the stone of the battlements. Actually, admitting that, even in his own mind was enough to get the fury cogs going, even if slowly. Because it was true, Terriermon had no business rubbing it in his face like that, he already knew! But should he have punched him like that?

Maybe not, but Impmon didn't feel sorry about it in the slightest. Yes. Hmph, it was probably bound to happen anyway! And if Terriermon didn't deserve it then, he'd deserved it a couple of times from other stuff, too.

"Um…" Lopmon's voice cut through his thoughts. He stiffened, turning to look at her. She was covered in dust and smelled like dead wood and rocks. In her right paw, she was holding his scarf and gloves. "I brought these."

"Er…thanks." Impmon wasn't sure what to say. He took the scarf first. It was back to feeling like fabric again, and smelled a little bit like soap. But, "Hey, where did you get these? Didn't that little Otamamon have 'em?"

Lopmon looked away, "She asked me to return them to you."

"Tch." Impmon tied the scarf on and glanced back towards the forest, unable to hide the trace bitterness in his voice, "What, they afraid my bad murderin' karma'll rub off on them?"

Lopmon didn't say anything for a little while, and for a second Impmon thought she'd left. But she surprised him by hopping up alongside him, speaking with more resolution in her voice than he'd ever heard. "Impmon, please. I won't pretend to understand fully what Terriermon said about karma, but if what he says is true then all of us have enough bad to merit the trouble we're all getting in this life. Even him. But that's not what's important."

Impmon growled and pulled his gloves out of her grip.

"Oh yeah?"

He started to pull on his left glove, and then the right—only to stop and stare stupidly.

The right glove, the one that had been shredded all to nonsense, had been stitched back together. They weren't neat stitches by any stretch of the imagination, and the thread was the wrong color, but…

A memory blossomed in his mind, pastel colors, wooden floors and old fans, crumbs on the carpet and the smell of apple juice and crayons—but most importantly of Ai and Mako, holding up that stupid stuffed bear with the stitched-up arm.

He looked back to Lopmon, eyes wide and a little unfocused.

She didn't seem to notice. "You and I are not like the others. We were their enemies by nature and circumstance. Both of our destinies were to commit grave betrayals to find our true paths—as guardians to our young Tamers. This is what is important. This is our destiny."

Impmon snapped back to reality, tightened his gloves and bared his teeth at her. His heart wasn't really in the gesture, but he didn't like being cross examined by Lopmon, someone whom he didn't know well. _But wasn't that the freakin' point?_

_You ought to be grateful for this chance to get to know your teammates better, _Renamon had said.

But hearing all this from Lopmon made him feel naked and strangely vulnerable—almost panicky in a way, and before he could stop them, words were tumbling out of his mouth like cereal out of overturned box,

"You know I'm really gettin' tired of hearin' that word—_destiny, destiny_! You don't make a lot of sense, bunny brain, but thanks for the sagely advice."

"One more thing?

"_What?"_

"We are almost done with the clean-up. The King insisted our group go and get some sleep. Renamon and Guilmon are finishing up some final preparations, but they asked me to come and relieve you two. The Geckomon watch will be coming up to replace you soon, so if you are tired..."

"I'm not tired. I'm as alert as ever and my eyes are still sharper than a dentist's drill. I'll come down when I feel like it, got it?"

Behind him, he heard Lopmon utter a tiny sigh. His tail and spine, stiff with defiance twitched at the noise. Of all the people he could be yelling at, he'd already yelled at Lopmon too many times today, and for what? She was nice enough, he guessed, but he was also tired of taking back the stupid word-vomit things he said and with Terriermon just over there looking on with curiosity even if he couldn't hear, he wasn't about to say sorry now (oh for all the love in heaven, please don't let him be able to hear!).

As soon as Lopmon left, he slapped his hand to his face and glared out at the forest through the gap in his fingers, grinding his teeth. Why was he so stupid? His eyes were practically watering with the effort of keeping them open…

A flash of movement across the water—

The trees were shifting, bending—

An electric shock might have torn through his body. He leaped up to stand on the battlements and narrowed his eyes. He could hear a heavy stomping sound, like the whole forest was moving towards them—and something spindly, swinging what looked like a giant hammer and carrying a flag of some sort, a white—

Impmon's eyes widened.

"What the—"

"Impmon!" Terriermon was scrambling over to his side of the battlements, leaning up against the stone and staring out at the approaching army. "Is that—"

"Trouble. Come on!"

Terriermon had sounded the alarm amongst the guards, while Impmon decided to take the express route down to the great hall.

He slid down the side of the fort and scrambled for the hole in the wall, sending bits of debris falling in a silty rain. He could still hear a commotion inside, so that meant Lopmon was right. So much the better.

"HEY!" he shouted, sticking his head inside. From the height, his voice carried well over the swept-up hall. Renamon and the others and most of the Geckomon were still in there. "We got company!"

* * *

><p>There was no time for anything better. The Geckomon literally threw a rice paper screen on the massive hole in the wall, if only to present the illusion of a better defense. The King mobilized every able-bodied Geckomon in the fort to attention, and warned everyone to prepare for the worst.<p>

The worst. Renamon's eyes narrowed at the thought. She slid on her sleeves and clenched her fist.

Perhaps there was a chance that if Calumon managed to digivolve them they could manage? No, Calumon had never digivolved any of them past Champion on his own, and they had no Tamers…Woodmon were strong, but she on her own had taken out plenty of Champion-level Digimon before. But a battle-hardened Ultimate and a Mega?

Perhaps what they were doing was irresponsible, but they had no choice now. Even if they wanted to run, they would likely be unable to escape pursuit from a Mega and a small army. Still, what to do? Was it possible that they could defeat him, if they absolutely had to? Surely they could? Hadn't they defeated more impossible odds?

Not alone…

She shook her head. All this worrying. It wasn't like her. Perhaps this acquisition of human traits wasn't always a good thing. Before Rika, before the D-Reaper, she had never feared death. Now that she had someone else to live for, however…

No. It hadn't come to that yet.

"That's a lot of Woodmon," Guilmon said, staring out at the veritable forest camped out on the shore of the pond. "So, that's Puppetmon?"

"Yes," Renamon supplied.

"He's _tiny_. Are you sure he's a Mega?" Impmon said, narrowing his eyes. Renamon followed his gaze. Puppetmon was a little hard to make out at this distance. He appeared to be standing on one of Cherrymons branches, holding a long Hammer and another pole, the tip of which was hidden in the boughs.

"Sure he is!" Marine Angemon supplied. Impmon blinked.

"Oh yeah. No offense."

"Size has nothing to do with it," Guardromon worried, "I hear that hammer of his can kill a Champion with one strike!"

"Let's hope whoever said that was exaggerating," Terriermon replied, "If that's the case, he could take out this whole fort by himself!"

They were all waiting up on the battlements, along with the Geckomon King and a show of force, holding spears and creating a fence of shiny thorns. Renamon was certain day had come, but it was still dark out.

"I hoped it wouldn't come to this," the Geckomon King said. "Still, what is he waiting for?"

Suddenly, the spindly shape that was Puppetmon leaped off of Cherrymon's branches and landed lightly on the ground. Renamon could see the other pole—it was—

"A white flag?" she blinked.

"What, like surrender?" Impmon frowned.

"_Heeeyyyyy!"_ a tinny voice—unmistakably Puppetmon's—rang out across the lake.

The Geckomon King blinked. "That's a flag of truce."

"_Heeeeeeeyyyyy!" _Puppetmon yelled again. "I just wanna talk! Why don't you come out so I don't lose my voice just trying to say 'hello'?"

"How stupid do you think we are?" Impmon retorted, shaking his fist.

"Yeah, you think we're gonna get within spitting distance of you guys?" Terriermon added, also shaking his fist.

"Guys, we're trying to negotiate!" Guilmon told them. "Shhhh!"

"Sorry? Can't hear you! Come on, throw me a bone here," Puppetmon shouted, "I think we might be able to come to a peaceful solution if you just talk to me! I'd hate to…" his voice degenerated into a set of tinny yells carried off by the wind.

"It might be worth a shot," Guilmon muttered. "But doesn't it kinda seem too good to be true?"

"He's got a flag of truce. We've got no choice, anyway." The Geckomon king signaled his aides.

* * *

><p>Puppetmon's flag was made of <em>skins.<em> The pelts of at least three different pale-colored Digimon had been lashed together with red yarn.

"What took you so long?" He stabbed the butt of the grisly banner into ground, leaving a mark just beyond the drawbridge.

Renamon's fur prickled along her spine. It went against every instinct fired and fine-tuned in her system to even be this close to the Mega. He was gripping the flag with both hands, knees and shoulders bent in a strangely childlike way, but there was a grim, bloody look in his Virus-red eyes and an easy anticipation in his stance that frightened her because of its familiarity.

He, too, was flanked by two Woodmon, with the Cherrymon standing behind at a good distance. She narrowed her eyes. This was no doubt simply a way to try and mock the Geckomon King—if not to mock, then to frighten or upset with the mirror image reflected.

It told her much about the kind of creature he was.

_Childish. Proud. Crafty._

"So," the Geckomon King said, clearly noticing the taunt and choosing to ignore it, "You wish to talk?" a breeze swept through, blowing the white standards of both sides.

Puppetmon made an exaggerated "looking" gesture.

"Where are the other ones? The Real-World Digimon? Oooh, way back there, I see."

It was true—only Guilmon, Renamon, Terriermon, Impmon and the King and his two aides had come forward. The rest of their group, and many of the Geckomon, had been asked to hang back. Initially, Impmon had been asked to stay to, but he'd "blown a gasket" (a metaphor picked up from Rika that she found apt in this situation) in response.

"_Hey, I'm the one who saw him coming, and I don't want him or Cherrymon to think I'm afraid of them or something!"_

In the end, everyone in the advance group, even Terriermon, acquiesced. Renamon understood. It wasn't just pride. She did think that the little Virus type thought altogether too much of what others thought of him in general, but this was a matter of honor.

"Don't worry, they're perfectly within hearing distance," Terriermon said with a smile.

Renamon sighed inwardly. She wished Henry was here, for Terriermon's sake. There was no need to antagonize Puppetmon.

"Is that so? Well then, best get to the point!" Like a gangly wooden spider, Puppetmon leaped. The sudden motion caused everyone to instinctively flinch away—

But Puppetmon had merely swung onto one of the chains. He laughed at their reaction, swinging on the sturdy chain like a child on a swing set. He swung down onto the drawbridge with a heavy thud. The Geckomon King frowned.

"What are you doing? Step back across." Puppetmon waved a dismissive hand and gestured to his gruesome flag.

"Scared you, didn't I? Don't worry, I've got a white flag, see? I'm not going to hurt you." The playfulness that had buoyed his voice disappeared. The change in sound reminded Renamon of what happened when a drop of ink fell into a glass of water—darkness spiraling and curling out. "You frogs are going to hand over the Digimon who have been to the real world. If you do, I'll pretend this fort never existed, and walk away."

Puppetmon's voice carried like an air horn, so everyone heard the offer. Renamon tensed. She could feel the gazes of the other Geckomon turn on her and her companions—once friendly eyes turned slightly predatory.

"You don't even have to give them all to me at once. I'll settle for this one, for starters." He pointed at Impmon, who in turned bared his teeth.

"You want a piece of me, you mutated fence post?" Renamon glanced at him. Impmon was trying to be stoic and angry, but he had always been painfully easy to read, even at this most calm and collected (which not very) in it of itself. But now, his defenses had already taken a sound and humiliating beating over the course of the day. At this point, their ragged shreds could barely be called a defense. He looked raw, and shamed, eyes inflamed with embarrassment. "I'll give it to you if you think you can handle it!"

Puppetmon eyes narrowed. He took a step forward.

"Impmon, quiet," Renamon stepped in front of him.

The Geckomon King, for his part, did not even look at them. Instead, his gaze hardened.

"What for?" he asked, his voice cold and level.

"I don't need to tell you, but I'll play since you asked so nicely," Puppetmon twirled the truce flag lazily. "To go to the Real World, of course!"

"Puppetmon, I don't know told you that, but it's not true," Guilmon said. "Loading one of us won't get you there. That's a made-up story."

Puppetmon laughed, a harsh, shrill noise that made the sensitive hair in Renamon's ears buzz. His Woodmon chortled along with him, but as soon as he stopped, they shut their mouths. Puppetmon reopened his eyes—that blood-hungry look returning like moss on stone. "Want to know why I don't believe you?"

"Well, I think we could hazard a guess," Terriermon said, scratching his head.

"You don't say? Well. What do _you_ say, Mr. Geckomon King?"

All eyes turned to the King. A hush fell. Renamon could practically feel the bated breath of the Geckomon holding the line behind them. She shared a glance with Guilmon. In the worst case scenario, Guilmon would attack, and hopefully push Puppetmon into the moat, and then she'd go back and—

"You insult my people and I by asking!" The silence cracked like river ice. There was a short gasp. "Not a one of them considered betraying our friends, and we have done our share of groveling in the dirt before to monsters like you."

Puppetmon wasn't even looking at him. He was twirling his hammer slowly, staring at Impmon, who was glaring balefully at him from Renamon's side.

"You ought to reconsider," Puppetmon's voice was quiet. "I already have to destroy this place to remove the taint of your defective guilty friend."

"Shut—" Impmon started, but Guilmon cut him off, his voice a growl.

"Hey, wait! You said that if we gave ourselves up, you'd walk away and pretend this place never existed!"

Puppetmon blinked, as though genuinely surprised. "Oh darn. I messed that up. Let me clarify." The hammer stopped spinning.

A blur of gunmetal gray and an explosion followed.

Renamon found herself blown backwards in a blast of heat and splintering wood. She hit the ground hard, only to leap up as the smoke cleared.

Just as the Geckomon King shattered into a billion points of red light. Puppetmon's face was as hard and cold as the metal of the hammer, eyes glimmering in the explosion's fading fire.

"What I meant to say was that in order for me to even pretend that this place never existed, I'd have to smash it into tiny pieces, kill everyone inside, and _then _walk away. And then, I'd go to the Real World. Make sense now?"

The Geckomon aide who'd been holding the standard was screaming, tears falling from his eyes to land on the broken shaft of their side's white flag.

Impmon was already on his feet. "You lyin', cheatin', two faced ugly _freak_!" he howled. "That was a truce flag!"

"Like someone like you knows the meaning of the word," Puppetmon replied. He tore the skin-flag off the shaft and tied it roughly around the end of his hammer. He started to twirl it again. "You're a killer, but you're not even good at that. And just so you know—"the horrible playfulness returning to his voice, "White is the color of _death!_ Don't you stupid fools know anything? Ahahahahhahaha!"

With two swift strikes of his hammer, Puppetmon destroyed the two chains that allowed the drawbridge to retract.

Puppetmon leaped, hammer held high and voice shrill, "_ATTACK!"_

* * *

><p><em>AN: On white being the color of death-no, I am not pulling that out of my rear. Traditionally in Japan, white is the color of death. Cherrymon are known for being fairly knowledgeable and wise, so I figured given the nature of the network (random data in random places), gossip, rumors and simple investigation, Cherrymon might have learned something like that and told Puppetmon. __XD_


	3. Chapter 3

_Scar Stories (c) DeskRage_

_Chapter 3_

* * *

><p>This could only end one way. Impmon snarled and braced himself, filling his hands with red flame. He wasn't alone in moving. Guilmon spat a sphere of fire at Puppetmon, who instinctively tried to lurch out of the way with a yelp—Guilmon's power was considerable for a rookie—and faltered mid-attack, only to recover quickly and swing out at him again. He missed Guilmon, but Renamon, who had been moving alongside the demon dinosaur into position to attack. Impmon gasped—the moment seemed to go in slow motion as Puppetmon's hammer hurtled towards Renamon's side, if it landed, it was going to be a <em>direct hit<em>,

"NO!"

Puppetmon caught his eye as soon as the scream tore itself from Impmon's throat. He sneered, and then—

A tiny voice cried out, "_Puu!"_

A viscous pink bubble ballooned outwards with a hiss of wind, crackling electricity.

"Nice one, MarineAngemon!"

MarineAngemon, normally bright-eyed and open faced was grimacing. The bubble swallowed the whole of the gate, pushing bigger and bigger and bigger, finally halting at the halfway point of the drawbridge. At that point, as far as Impmon could tell, it had swollen to form a protective sphere surrounding the whole fort.

Puppetmon, for his part, simply skipped backwards on the heads of his minions and halted at a safe distance.

Instead of retreating, or even stopping, he flung his hand out. Cherrymon took up the battle cry now, grinding the end of his staff into the mud.

"Go, Woodmon! Do exactly what I told you!"

To Impmon's horror, the Woodmon, after only a second, continued to inch forward. One of the bolder ones edged out to the front and brought his arms to bear.

"_Branch Drain!" _With that, he slammed the ends of his arms against MarineAngemon's barrier—

MarineAngemon cried out in surprise, a cry that soured with the edge of pain as the other Woodmon followed suit, each jamming their deadly claws up against the bubble-barrier.

MarineAngemon winced, crackles of greenish lighting whipping out over the surface of the bubble.

"How are they doing that?" Lopmon gasped.

"How are they not, it's their signature attack!" Terriermon gulped.

"MarineAngemon, can't you—I don't know, attack or something?" Impmon's voice was frustration as much as it was fear. He'd locked eyes with Puppetmon, and even through the barrier the tension was as thick and viscous as blood.

"No, MarineAngemon can't attack and defend at the same time," Guardromon wailed.

Guilmon lowered his body, his voice curling into a snarl. "We've been duped! This was Puppetmon's plan the whole time!"

Impmon started. Guilmon was right. Puppetmon had good reason to fear MarineAngemon. Even though the pixie Digimon was not as strong as Puppetmon—he just wasn't very…thick?...power-wise—MarineAngemon _was _really the only one who had even the slightest chance of being able to go toe to toe with him.

And now, Puppetmon had tied up the little Mega's power completely, because if the barrier failed…

"Get in!" MarineAngemon groaned. "I'll hold them off as long as I can."

"Nuts," Impmon snarled, clenching his fists. "Now what?"

"We think of something," Renamon touched his shoulder.

"And we'd better do it fast, for MarineAngemon's sake!"

"MarineAngemon—how long can you hold out?" Guilmon asked, his muzzle scrunched with worry.

MarineAngemon managed a pained chuckle. He opened one eye. Impmon swallowed. MarineAngemon's fur wasn't thick—it was light and feathery, and through it, Impmon cold already start to smell the sweat.

"Long enough," MarineAngemon assured them. "Go!"

* * *

><p>The inside of the fort was chaos. The Steward was trying to comfort and rally his people at the same time—who, in the wake of the King's death were teetering (loudly) on the brink of hysteria—and he was trying to do it by yelling.<p>

The results were mixed.

Some of the Geckomon had managed to calm down enough to start mobilizing and getting into their proper lines again or whatever and start beefing up the main gate with what was left of the rubble and whatever else was lying around. Others, mostly Otamamon who couldn't do much else, were trying to lift people's energy and spirits by passing out what remained of dinner, but given the grief and the terror at their doorstep, needless to say there were a lot of broken sake cups.

"Yeesh, can't they keep it down?" the grumble was out of his mouth before he could stop it and he immediately regretted it. The Geckomon King's death was his own freaking fault. Actually, this entire mess was his freaking fault. If he hadn't heard those two mushroom-eating fools in the forest, he and the others would have blown this place by this very morning, probably.

He slapped a hand to his face. Seriously, every situation ever seemed to turn to crap the instant he touched it. Why was that?

_Karma_, a mocking little voice in his head whispered.

_Now I'm arguing with myself!_ A furious gurgle found its way out of his throat at the thought. It made him want to grind Terriermon's face into some concrete if they ever got out of this for bringing the stupid idea up in the first place. _If Terriermon is right and karma is a thing, then I won't be the only one coming back a worm or something._

However, no one seemed to be paying much attention to him or his mutterings, and for once he was actually a little bit relieved.

"So, I'm pretty sure we've heard all the worst ideas already," Calumon moaned. "Can we start hearing the good ones, now, please?"

Cream puff had a point there. He, Renamon, Guilmon, Calumon, Lopmon and Terriermon (Guardromon had opted to stay outside with MarineAngemon, saying that it would be better for MarineAngemon's morale and he wasn't much of a strategist anyway. Impmon knew this wasn't true, and everyone else seemed to as well. More it was Guardromon's compassion and natural inclination to volunteer for the front lines alongside MarineAngemon, so they'd thanked him for that and promised him a good plan) sitting out a map of the territory that the Steward had given them. It was covered in marker scrawls that had been x-ed out one after the other to the point where it was pretty much indecipherable.

Plan after plan had been drawn up, and most of them were written along the lines of, "We digivolve and beat the bad guy!" or "We somehow manage to get out of here past all the Woodmon, get into the forest, convert Cherrymon and attack Puppetmon together and hope MarineAngemon hasn't completely exhausted himself by then!" One set of plans was either too bold, or too dependent on some seriously big _"ifs"_.

Even with Calumon's help, without their Tamers, the best they'd be able to get to was Champion (they were pretty sure anyway. Calumon didn't even seen to know), and that would only buy them time at best. Actually, it might give them a chance against Cherrymon, but not with all those Woodmon surging about and certainly not against Puppetmon.

Personally, he would have liked the "too bold" set of plans more if he'd had a smidgen of the power necessary to pull them off, but either way, they were screwed. He drummed his fingers on the edges of the map, not really listening to the new plans getting tossed around. It reminded him of the one time in his life he'd played _shogi* _once (not a shining moment of his even for him, he didn't think he'd ever go near a fire hose or a cement mixer every again after that), but after he realized he was losing—and badly—he'd exploded and kicked the board across the street.

He stopped drumming his fingers. _Kicked the board across the street. _His eyes widened. He looked at the map, and then at the shuddering walls of the fort. How had this not occurred to him before?

"I got it!" he burst out, leaping to his feet. He was almost laughing with relief, but managed to contain himself.

"Well, what is it, genius?"

Impmon told them.

A moment's silence passed.

Terriermon pursed his lips. "You know, normally, I'd say that's a horrible idea and I'm not surprised that you were the one to come up with it, but given our options…"

"It's so dumb that it's brilliant!" Calumon said, ears extending with hope.

"MarineAngemon is certain to be running out of time—we don't have the luxury of thinking of anything better!" Lopmon said.

"I hate to do that, but it may be the only thing that'll work," Renamon sighed.

Guilmon stood. "Right then. We'd better get moving. There isn't much time."

* * *

><p>They had to run the plan by the Steward. Impmon didn't see why it mattered, seeing as they'd have to go through with it anyway, but in the end, the Geckomon sighed heavily.<p>

"It can't be helped. We've endured worse. Go. And thank you."

He sent out two more Geckomon out just beyond the gate where MarineAngemon and Guardromon were holding the barrier. On the surface, they hoped it would appear to Puppetmon and his men that they were simply bolstering that outside guard—in reality, they were there to relay the plan to the other two partners.

Impmon winced inwardly. So much for the "good plan" they promised Guardromon. Actually, he was feeling sicker with every minute they had to wait—and not because he wanted to just get everything over with.

But it was a stupid, stupid, _desperate_ plan.

He swallowed. The odds of that were looking good. His track record was the furthest thing from auspicious, and given what had happened over just the last forty-eight hours.

"Impmon, what's wrong?"

Impmon swung his head up to look at Renamon. No matter what kind of light they were in, her eyes were always bright, bright and piercing to the core. It was dark—the Steward was leading them to the "back door" of the fort, so to speak. Guilmon was leading, with Terriermon, Lopmon and Calumon trailing, and with Impmon and Renamon bringing up the rear.

He stopped, resting his hand on the rough stone wall. He figured a front at this point would be well…pointless.

"I'm sorry," he groaned, face in hands. "We wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me."

Renamon sighed, a heavy, almost rasping sound.

"No, really! I'm not just—look, if I hadn't heard those stupid Geckomon, we wouldn't have gotten dragged into this whole Puppetmon nightmare, and we'd have been outta this crappy forest in just the next day. It's because of me that the Geckomon King spoke and then Puppetmon killed him to make a point. You shoulda seen the way he looked at me, Renamon. I've brought this all down on everyone's heads." His voice, previously starting out borderline hysterical had weakened to something resembling a whisper. "I'm nothing but a bundle of mistakes."

* * *

><p>Renamon had never wanted to smack Impmon more than in that moment. For a heartbeat, a froth of frustration boiled in her guts, making her whiskers twitch—but her sense got the better of her and a wave of compassion calmed the angry sea in her.<p>

Absolutely nothing had gone right for Impmon in the last forty-eight hours. The same could be said of the last few months or so, in a way. Part of it was due to his own poor choices, but no one except these village-brained Geckomon condemned him as much as Impmon was condemning himself for what happened to Jeri, and indeed every tiny little effort he made that resulted in some kind of error.

But the thing was, he'd blinded himself to the good he'd wrought in their lives. She did not witness his return to his tiny Tamers, but certainly their reconciliation saved more than just his life.

She clenched her jaw. What brings people out of self-pity? Nothing—the person afflicted must climb out on their own strength.

She could help him realize the truth, but he had to choose to believe it.

"Impmon." Her voice was low, intense. He turned to look at her, eyes bleary and weak. _"_I am not the sum of my years of fighting in the Digital World—years spent destroying other Digimon and loading their data in order to become stronger. That part of me is past, and while it is a part of me, it is not me. You, in turn, _are not the just the sum of your failures. And you are better than this. _Stand up!_"_

Impmon, startled by the sudden force in her voice, flinched, tail stiffening. He may have responded, but the others had reached the foot of the stairs. Guilmon was poking his head around the corner.

"Are you guys okay?"

"Yes, coming," Renamon said, brushing past Impmon and leaving him to follow.

* * *

><p>The water was freezing.<p>

Impmon guessed it didn't matter, since it was about to get very, very hot.

The swim from the fort to the shore wasn't a long one. The bank was moist and soft under Impmon's hands as he scrambled out of the water, spitting and coughing. Guilmon's powerful wake kept sending water up his nose, so now his sinuses were stinging with it.

"You know, you don't have to be spitting out the water," Terriermon said.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Impmon retorted, but he never got his answer, since Renamon and Guilmon hissed them over to a clump of brush. Impmon tried not to shudder. He could hear the howling and screaming of the Woodmon all the way from here, and the distant muffled sound coupled with the very imminent task at hand threatening to choke him made it altogether disturbing.

"You ready, Calumon?" Guilmon asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be…" Calumon concentrated. Impmon waited with bated breath. He didn't really know much about Calumon's power to digivolve other Digimon, only that Calumon himself didn't seem to know that much about it. Reportedly, he'd never really thought much about it when he did it, except for once or twice, and then, he'd had some kind of outside leg-up—either a Tamer or some Digi-faeries or Gnomes or something.

He needn't have worried—a red light bloomed in Calumon's forehead.

Guilmon, Terriermon and Renamon each disappeared a blaze of gold-white light, and just watching their silhouettes morph and change sent a pain through Impmon that he knew, standing next to Lopmon, he wasn't alone in feeling.

The light cleared. Calumon fell over with a groan, but before he hit the ground, Kyuubimon braced the fall with her muzzle. "Thank you," she said.

"Thanks, Calumon," Growlmon added.

For a minute, Impmon couldn't help but stare. They were beautiful. Growlmon was _huge_, all heavy, solid muscle and rough, bulletproof hide and heat radiating from his belly that Impmon could feel even from here. Gargomon, smelling like combustion, also thick with muscle and substantial bone, a newly heavy hide and flame in his eyes. And Kyuubimon—she…Impmon didn't really have good words to describe her, but he got the distinct impression that there weren't a lot of Digimon out there whose forms reflected power and, well, _beauty_ as well as hers did, and he wouldn't have really noticed or cared if the beauty in question wasn't related to her power. She was glossy fireproof fur, flaming feet and tailtips that cast a ghostly aura around her that dared an opponent to attack, and when she moved he got the impression of pure, shining steel wrapped in silk.

Had he never noticed this in them before, with anything but bitter envy, or bloodlust?

"Right, we've got to hurry! Puppetmon and Cherrymon probably saw that light, so we've got to move." Growlmon instructed. His voice dropped, and there was a tiny, game smile that gave an edge to his voice that for some reason, prompted a strange inspiration, a calm that things may in fact be okay. He made eye contact with Impmon, before addressing the whole group. "We can do this! Remember, make sure to leave the gap in front of the fort."

"Yeah, can't say we didn't give those bullies a chance!" Gargomon said. Growlmon nodded as Lopmon grabbed a stick and climbed onto his back. Calumon, for his part had climbed onto Kyuubimon's back.

Growlmon gave a nod. "Let's go!"

With that, he whirled around and released a blast of white-hot flame into the forest. The foliage seemed to go up with a strange creaking noise, as if protesting the injustice of a second destruction, before crumbling into bits of flaming charcoal and spreading the flame with an ashy gasp.

Impmon swallowed, lighting his fingers. No turning back now.

"Impmon, with me!" Kyuubimon said, bounding away.

"You got it," he responded, leaping after her.

* * *

><p>"Is it just me or should we have run into trouble by now?" Gargomon panted. He couldn't' well wipe at the sweat that was starting to run down his forehead and around his eyes—he didn't have <em>hands<em> to do that with. The heat from the fire they'd seeded was eating up the forest like candy, breaking it into a million crackly pieces before it collapsed into a pile of smoldering ash.

"Are you complaining?" Lopmon asked as she tossed yet another torch into a previously unlit section of forest.

Growlmon stopped, snorting dark vapors from his nose as he cast about. He tensed, eyes widening. "I think Puppetmon found them!"

Well, there had been about a fifty-fifty chance of that happening…wait—

"Hold on a sec, are you telling me you can hear them screaming over all of this from way over here!"

"We've got to help them!"

"I'm afraid, that's where I've got to stop you."

Cherrymon seemed to materialize out of the burning haze with the crunch of breaking foliage.

Gargomon snorted and brought his arms to bear. "And here I was thinking it was about time we ran into something nasty!"

"We can take him!" Growlmon snarled.

"I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken. I may not have meant business when I dealt with your cowardly little friend, but I can assure you, the gloves, metaphorically speaking, are off. Your little plan to burn us down with the forest was a bold move, I'll give you that, but time, I'm afraid is not on your side my friends."

"Oh yeah? Big talk from a lump of firewood! It may take a little bit, but you're going down with this forest sooner or later if you don't take a hike and fast! _Gargo-laser!" _he charged towards Cherrymon, guns blazing—this rush of power and energy and bloodlust familiar and friendly, except—

Henry wasn't here—

That realization almost caused him to falter. Instead, he channeled it into a furious bellow and made as if to slam the side of his heavy arm into Cherrymon's face.

"_Cherry Bomb!"_ a rain of explosions threw him backwards with a cry.

Cherrymon literally seemed to shake the damage off, motioning at the smoke with his staff and grinning that nasty grin of his.

"That may be," he raised all six of his arms, arching his fingers like claws, "But even if I do, it'll be long after Puppetmon takes care of your little friends. And long after I've loaded the three of you. _Vine Attack!"_

Several vines whipped out of Cherrymon's canopy—about as big and heavy as a fire hose and packing about the same punch, too, and slammed Growlmon full in the face, wrapping around his muzzle and smashing him into the ground.

Gargomon sprang to his aid, followed up by Lopmon, only to find himself flying in the opposite direction courtesy of another crippling blow that sent him crashing into the remains of a charred tree.

He rolled to his feet. Cherrymon might be strong, but he was sure in his heart that they would beat him. He had Henry to think of, after all! To fail here would be irresponsible.

But if Puppetmon really had found Renamon and Impmon already, and they had this stupid creep in the way, whether they _could _defeat Cherrymon or not was irrelevant—

Renamon and Impmon would be dead in a few minutes, and he, Lopmon and Growlmon wouldn't have much longer when the Mega came to call.

And to think that hoping that the forest would burn down faster than these guys could beat them was their best plan.

"I've had enough of this!" he said it almost to himself as much as he was talking to Cherrymon as he dashed the thoughts from his mind. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but this fight, right, here, right now.

That was all they'd ever had.

* * *

><p>The heat from the flames pressing in from behind while the foliage that wasn't quite yet burning slapped and scratched at him as he practically flew through the trees, setting fire to everything he touched.<p>

Below, Kyuubimon's Fox Tail Inferno hurled fireballs in all directions, seeding little flames in her wake. Calumon was doing his best simply to hang on.

There was a strange giddiness that lent more energy to his heels. It was only a matter of time before they ran into Cherrymon or Puppetmon. The other group would have to try and stand and fight because they weren't as fast, but at least they had the ability to do several times more damage and continue to spread the flames.

He and Renamon had nothing but their speed to protect them, which was by design—they would cover much more ground. But just the thought of playing hell-tag with a crazy Mega was enough to make him feel like he was already breathing helium.

But hadn't they faced way worse odds before? They'd come out of that all right, right?

Well, sheer dumb luck was half of it. They haven't had a lot of that lately.

But as they set fires and continued to run, he couldn't help but remember the day he first digivolved to Blast Mode. He'd thought he was running to his death then, too, but that had been no reason not to act—something in that feeling, combined with the love of his Tamers had created the power that transformed him…

"_Puppet Pummel!"_

There was an explosion and a howl of pain. Kyuubimon flew by in a blur of yellow and fire. A hail of bark and charcoal flew into Impmon's face. The blast of heat that followed knocked him right out of the tree, landing him in a heap on the ground.

He scrambled upright, and looked at Kyuubimon, who was struggling to her feet. But she was shaking badly on her right side only, her fur blackened with the effects of the explosion. Not a direct hit, thank goodness.

"That's about as far as you'll be going today," Puppetmon said, stalking out of the shadows. He whirled his hammer around, clearing a space without flame as he came, his red eyes practically glowing in the firelight.

Calumon made a small, frightened noise, his grip tightening on Kyuubimon's fur.

Impmon grit his teeth, letting the bile of fear and battle-rush build in his throat. With Puppetmon directly in their way, running away was going to be difficult, if not downright impossible. So much for hell-tag.

"You'd better not take another step, ugly," he snarled, "Or we'll digivolve again—"

"What kind of idiot do you take me for?" Puppetmon hurled the x-shaped thing on his back at Impmon, who managed to dodge enough to escape a direct blow, but it was like getting clipped by a speeding car and Impmon soon found himself eating dirt.

He spat out a mouthful of mud, just as Pupetmon grabbed him by the ear and dragged him upright. "I'm certainly a lot smarter than you." Dangling painfully from his ear, Impmon squinted his eyes back open. Puppetmon's face was weird and twisted—His nose was slightly off center and the wood around his mouth was strangely warped. His eyes were crazy, and the texture of his woody skin was cracked and rough. He was, if anything, like an extremely ugly, murderous, half-finished puppet. "I knew that you not all of you had digivolved, and the ones that could couldn't have gone past Champion level. Otherwise—" he suddenly hurled Impmon back down to the ground and stomped on his back, crushing the air out of him with a wheeze that almost prevented Impmon from hearing the rest, "—you wouldn't have gone through the trouble of hiding—it—in—the—first—place!" each of those last words were accentuated by a stomp, and for a minute, Impmon through he might pass out.

However, Kyuubimon jumped in with a cry.

"_Dragon Wheel!" _A blur of blue flame hurled itself into Puppetmon and sent him thudding to the ground in a clatter, freeing Impmon long enough to crawl away—just in time for Puppetmon to rebound. Kyuubimon's attack may have sent him spinning, but be leaped up—freakishly fast—and grabbed the ruff of Kyuubimon's fur and buried his face into the area around her shoulder.

It was a split second later, with a metallic drilling growl and Kyuubimon's scream that he realized what happened.

"YOU—! " he pitched to his feet and hurled a fireball, but it had about the same effect as throwing Pop Rocks.

"_Stop it!"_ Calumon had descended on Puppetmon's head and was pulling at his had. "Let her go!" his voice was practically a sob. Puppetmon responded by dropping Kyuubimon—her blood dripping off his nose and disappearing into red points of data—and swatting at Calumon like a troublesome fly. Calumon, who was very light, went soaring into the burning forest with a cry.

"Calu—" Impmon barely got half the name before stars burst into his vision as a solid wooden fist slammed into the side of his head. He tried to get to his feet, elbows wobbling, but that effort only prompted a vicious kick.

He slid to the ground in a heap against a tree trunk, trying not to breathe. Something in his ribs didn't feel right anymore. Didn't end up mattering. He opened his eyes, just in time to see Puppetmon in his face and holding a small, sharp, blackened piece of wood. Impmon gasped involuntarily when he realized what Puppetmon was going to do, air used immediately afterward as a strangled scream ripped its way out of his throat—as Puppetmon drove the wood into Impmon's shoulder and _pinned him to the freaking tree._

"You're the saddest thing I've ever seen," Puppetmon hissed, leaning into Impmon's face, who couldn't even look him in the eye, doubled over with agony as he was. "You're a Digimon who made it to Mega. The scars on your back are proof of that. But for some reason, you feel _bad _about it."

"You don't know anything about me," Impmon wheezed. "But I know that whatever sick freak put you together clearly didn't give a dirty diaper when—"

Kyuubimon by this time had recovered and attacked again, but Puppetmon simply brought out his cross-thing out again. Kyuuibimon dodged, hurling nine balls of ghost-blue flame.

Puppetmon caught her directly in the chest with a hammer, and sent her crumpling to the ground.

"_KYUUBIMON!"_

* * *

><p>Kyuubimon didn't even feel the blow at first—more like <em>heard<em> the sickening thunder of metal slamming into her flesh, the low thunder of the scorching explosion that fired, all up and down her body. And then the pain, a deep, throbbing pain and ricocheted through her body like a bullet seeking death.

She was lying in the dirt, just now feeling its pressure against her face. And she knew, just by the fact that she was still breathing, that she had been very lucky.

Her body spasmed unpleasantly. Her power bled away in a hiss of light, leaving behind Renamon. She fell back against the ground, seeing stars.

She's suffered worse than this before, right? Hadn't she gotten up from injuries far more grievous, pain far more intense? And yet, for the moment, this moment, even though she could hear someone screaming her name, she could not find the strength to stand up immediately.

Her strength _wasn't here._

A sudden hole opened up in the area underneath Renamon's heart. It felt like all her insides were falling straight into it, leaving in their place a yawning abyss of pain, a need, a memory.

_Rika...where are you?_

* * *

><p>"Sure I do. I know lots about you," Puppetmon said cheerfully, returning to the conversation as though nothing had happened. But everything had happened. Was Renamon still breathing? Sure, she had to be; otherwise she'd have dissolved by now—<p>

"You've been to the Real World. You and these other clowns must therefore have Tamers to be able to digivolve."

"Why do you even want to go to the real world?" Impmon grunted, struggling against Puppetmon's grip and the pain of the shard pinning him to the tree. "You're already fully digivolved. You've got all the power you could ever want."

Puppetmon laughed. "Are you kidding? I don't need a Tamer. I want to knock down bigger sandcastles that the ones we've got here. This world," he drew out the next word, "is _boring._ And _you _are a guilty killer."

He made a strange face—his eyes lit up with a strange hysteria that if Impmon wasn't already afraid to die here, he was then, "And that is unforgivable."

He let Impmon go, and strode over to where Renamon was sprawled on the ground. "Hey!" Impmon called weakly, panic rising in his chest. He grabbed at the stake in his shoulder. He couldn't seem to get a good grip on it, slippery with his own blood, "Get back here, I ain't finished with you yet!"

"No," Puppetmon hissed at him. "You're a guilty killer. An anti-Digimon. And you even have a Tamer, and you can't digivolve because of your disgrace. Which is why, I am going to kill and load this foxy lady, and going to make you watch. That'll teach you. Then, I'm going to kill and load _you_. _And,"_ his voice took on a gleeful pitch.

Puppetmon spread his arms and looked up at the sky, which was rumbling with the threat of rain, "when I finish the rest of your friends, I'm going to go to the Real World. I have no idea how I'll do it," he jerked his head back towards Impmon, in that creepy, uncanny way that only a puppet can manage, "But when I get there, I am going to find your Tamer, and I'm going to kill him."

It was as if a bomb detonated in Impmon's stomach, setting fire to his limb. The image of Ai and Mako, reaching out for him was burning in his brain, blocking out almost all else. He'd promised himself—they'd all made a promise, that day—that they would be together again soon.

"But first, your lady friend here!"

He could not die here. And neither would anyone else. They didn't have the luxury of dying here. Lopmon had said this was their fate, their responsibility—their lives weren't their own anymore, and there was something as freeing as there was binding in that.

_No one was going to die here._

They had promises to keep.

He hadn't succeeded at any major endeavor since getting here. But even then, that was never a reason not to act.

Renamon's voice floated through his mind—_You are not the sum of your failures._

_Ai…Mako…_

"_THAT'S ENOOOOOUUUUUUUGH!"_

He hadn't felt it in ages. A white rush of energy, like threads of light infusing and tightening in his soul seemed to push out to all of his limbs and give him the strength to stand. The energy seemed to flow out and suffuse his whole body and for a second there was nothing except that light. And in that second—

The outer of data that was Impmon frayed and sloughed off; taking with it that name, those little balls of fire, the tiny form with its fur, leaving behind the core that was _him_ more than it was anything else. That core seemed to shudder and stretch and morph as more energy seemed to flood in. His limbs lengthened and solidified—three fingers tore into five claws sheathed in heavy gunmetal, four wings shuddered and burst from his back with a sensation that wasn't quite pain but still felt like fire.

His limbs, all seven, wings were long and sparking strength—and instead of fur, there was a new hide, pressing in on the dark, raging flame that was the power that was _Beelzemon._

He roared with that familiar voice as the light faded and the vision cleared—cleared enough for him to see now a real fear in Puppetmon's eyes.

"It is _good _to be back!"

* * *

><p>Gargomon skidded away from another one of Cherrymon's blasts, panting heavily. They were in trouble now. The fire was starting to close in on them as it was on Cherrymon, who was showing no signs of slowing down.<p>

He didn't even want to think about what might be happening to Renamon and Impmon right now…

"Better give it up," Cherrymon grinned, making a rude "come on" gesture with his four auxiliary arms. "Your friends are probably—"

A sudden bright light flashed—for a second Gargomon thought that maybe the storm had finally come and the lightning was saying hello, but after turning, to see what Cherrymon and the others were gaping at, well…

There was just no mistaking that pillar of light. His jaw dropped, but triumph, as much as surprise built in his chest like the fizz in shook-up soda bottle. He laughed.

"I don't believe it!"

Lopmon gasped. "Could it be?"

Growlmon "I don't know how, but he did it!"

"He finally got over himself, that's what!" Gargomon cackled, turning his (now empty, but who cared?) guns back on Cherrymon. Of course. Impmon was probably done being his usual drama queen self, and managed to figure out whatever machinations made him digivolve. Finally.

Ugh, actually, now that he thought about it, a sudden image popped into his head of Impmon dictating his awesomeness to them for the rest of the journey…Well, even if it came to that, Gargomon was sure he could slap some sense into him again if he had to.

Cherrymon blanched, inching backwards as much as he could without catching whatever excuse he had for a rear on fire. His expression reminded Gargomon of the face that Henry made when Terriermon had dangled a dead spider in his face that one time. However, he managed to compose himself enough to spit out, "Don't go gettin' any ideas—the fact is that there's still the three of you against the one of me, and that little pipsqueak's digivolving hasn't changed the fact that I'm still stronger!"

He didn't even believe it himself! Gargomon could practically taste the undercurrent of fear in Cherrymon's voice.

Growlmon stamped the ground with his foot, leaving huge gouges in the burning earth before unleashing a Pyro Blaster at Cherrymon, catching him in the branches. His voice was low, and his body practically hummed with renewed energy.

"I don't know about that. It looks to me like everything has changed. _Dragon Slash!"_ he hacked at Cherrymon with his arm-blade, forcing the Tree Digimon to back into the flames.

Cherrymon howled and stampeded forward, vines snaking out, cherry bombs flying. Growlmon responded with a roar, "Time sure isn't on your side anymore! _Pyro Sphere!"_

* * *

><p>Puppetmon took a step back, gripping his hammer defensively in front of him, not even bothering to mask the shock that lit his eyes up light the inside of a jack-o-lantern*.<p>

"What is this? But—"a tree, barely held together by the remains of its bark burst from the heat inside, showering Puppetmon with flaming bits of wood.

"But nothing," Beelzemon snarled, flexing his claws and lashing his tail behind him. This substance, this coiled power—for a minute he found himself wishing that Puppetmon was just a little bigger, so that when he smashed his fist through that splintery body it would leave a bigger mark. "I ain't got no more words for you." He loved the way that he cast a huge shadow over Puppetmon. He couldn't help but grin! "You can still run, if you think you're fast enough."

What was that about hell-tag?

Puppetmon snarled at him, and purled his hammer. He made as though to strike at Beelzemon, but instead he fudged the attack so that it would hit the prone Renamon.

"Oh no, you don't!" Beelzemon snatched his gun and fired off three rounds in the blink of an eye, catching the wooden Digimon full on and hurling him into a tree so hard that the burning trunk broke in half on impact.

Several other trees crumpled and died with fiery hisses, falling down as Puppetmon rose, his eyes burning and lowered in a murderous stare. Beelzemon snarled, ready to lunge.

The world had been drained of true color—, black shadows, burning, blackening woods and the old, bloody look of the flames and licked at the skeletal forest and pumped granite colored smoke into the blackening, angry sky. All that remained was red.

That was fine with Beelzemon.

"You want to play rough?" Puppetmon challenged, spinning the hammer, "Then let's play!"

Beelzemon shifted, so that he was now providing a shield for Renamon. He flexed his claws.

"_Bring it!"_

* * *

><p>Renamon groaned as she came to. Her skull felt like there was a crack running all down the side and her brains were leaking out, and all she could smell was burning. She blinked charcoal out of her eyes and tried to sit up. This proved to be a bad move initially—a jolt of pain rattled her body and surprised her with its intensity to the point where she felt back to the ground.<p>

But she managed to forget it long enough to notice Beelzemon.

She gasped. "He—digivolved?"

"Renamon!" Calumon staggered out of the bush and threw himself on her side. He was light enough that it didn't hurt, but she could feel his big, thick tears seeping through her fur and stinging the burned skin beneath. "Thank goodness!"

Thank goodness…

A strange feeling had bubbled up inside her, a feeling she wasn't sure she really understood that prompted not only a sense of relief (not true relief, Beelzemon was still fighting for his life and theirs and the forest was coming down around their ears), but…

"Renamon, we'd better move!"

Something inside Impmon, something that had been badly broken was finally starting to heal, and with that knowledge a strange kind of pride warmed her heart.

* * *

><p>Beelzemon thought he had Puppetmon on the run. His enemy was dodging bullets from his gun left and right, dancing like the stupid marionette he was. He might have brought his Corona Blaster to bear and finished the job if Puppetmon hadn't suddenly charged <em>towards <em>him.

This took Beelzemon aback—the other Mega hadn't done anything but retreat so far—, so much so that Puppetmon managed to hit him full in the face with his hammer. The blow and the explosion sent Beelzemon reeling to one side, but he thrashed his tail and wings and managed to keep upright, enough to mitigate the second blow. Puppetmon snarled in frustration. "No fair! Let me make it a bit more even!"

He struck Beelzemon's wings—one with the hammer and one with the x-shaped thing, sending black feathers flying.

Beelzemon growled in pain, blundering backwards, but using the momentum to bring his claws to bear.

"_Darkness Claw!"_

It was a lucky blow—he finally tore through that wooden cross thing with his claws, a blaze of purple energy sending Puppetmon tumbling backwards. He flapped his wings experimentally as the thing exploded into bits of data to an anguished cry from Puppetmon—they hurt, but he could and _would_ fly.

"_Puppet Pummel!"_

This time, Beelzemon was ready for the blow. He caught the hammer in his claws—how could something so ridiculously tiny be so damn strong?—but the force behind it still pushed him back.

"I've had just about enough of that thing!" he grunted, pushing back harder and flinging his attacker off. Puppetmon landed lightly, rolling away from the bullet shaped crater in the ground where his head had been a second ago.

"I could say the same for that stupid toy gun of yours!" He made a flinging gesture at Beelzemon, who didn't notice anything…until he tried to attack.

It was as though he'd been dumped in half-dry concrete. He strained, muscles burning and twitching with the effort of trying to simply point his gun at the stupid puppet, but he couldn't move his four main limbs at all. He tried to flap his wings, shift his tail, anything, but as soon as he attempted that, all the strength binding him went back into his arms and legs.

"What is this!" All of his limbs seemed to be attached to these shining threads, each in turn attached to one of Puppetmon's fingers. His eyes widened as he realized what just happened.

Puppetmon laughed and twitched one of his fingers. No matter how he struggled, his gun arm swung around, and pointed at the spot where—

Renamon had been. Although, knowing her, she probably wasn't far—

"Where is she?" Puppetmon hissed. "Oh well. If she won't come out, I guess I'll just do this!" he moved his fingers again. Beelzemon's elbow wrenched painfully—he found himself pushing the barrel of his gun into his own chest, right over his heart. Panic sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins like lighting. He battled Puppetmon's attempts to make him pull the trigger, grunting and straining with the effort, even managing to flap his wings a little bit and twitch his tail, but even he knew he couldn't hold out forever like this!—

"Beelzemon, fly!" Renamon shouted from somewhere in the burning trees. "He's having trouble controlling all of your limbs! Fly!"

"Where are you?" Puppetmon shrieked, suddenly forcing Beelzemon's arm out towards the trees again.

"Right here!" Renamon rocketed out of a tree just as it collapsed into a flaming heap of ash. The very tip of her tail and elbow fur was on fire, but she didn't seem to notice, eyes bright with pain and strength, _"Diamond Storm!"_

As the bright leaves of brilliant energy rained down on Puppetmon with the force of a hailstorm, she cried out to Beelzemon,

"FLY!"

Beelzemon saw Puppetmon prepare some kind of attack to get back at Renamon and growled and affirmative. "You got it, toots!" With a growl, he launched himself into the sky, dragging Puppetmon with him with an incongruous clacking and howl of fury. The initial leap sent them high above into the dark smoke, but a few strokes of his powerful wings—Oh, how good it was to feel the air currents, and hear the low _thrum_ of his wings against the air, to be able to consider the weight and strength of this new body and yet still be able to fly—they were well above the nightmare that was the forest, reducing it to a red-hot latticework from hell. Before Puppetmon could regain control, Beelzemon twisted sharply and raked his freed claws over the strings, now stretched taught between him and Puppetmon. They snapped like fishing line.

Puppetmon plummeted with a shriek, his hammer falling harmlessly away.

"Hmph!" Beelzemon dipped into a dive, catching up to Puppetmon in seconds and snatching him out of the air. "Don't think you're getting off that easy!" he hissed in his ear.

"What're you going to do? You're too guilty to—" Puppetmon started to spit back, but Beelzemon had heard enough. He hurled Puppetmon back up into the sky, and summoned his Corona Blaster. Its weight on his arm, and what it meant sent a tingle of energy coursing through him.

"You threatened Ai and Mako. If you think I'm going to let that go, then you've got another thing coming! _ CORONA BLASTER!"_

It was over in a supernova of multicolored light and a tinny scream.

A sudden flash of lighting lit the world to white for a split second, followed by a furious peal of thunder.

There wasn't enough of Puppetmon to even hit the ground before his splintered remains dissipated into a trickle of bloody red stars to be carried away by the wind.

* * *

><p>Cherrymon didn't normally feel pain. His hide was dead and dense—all but impervious to true pain. Impact was the bigger detriment in battle, with pain as little more than the after effect, ringing in the background.<p>

He was in agony now.

These partner Digimon were right. The moment that rotten little defect digivolved, the time tables had been turned.

Flames licked and bit at his bark, cracking, burning, crumbling every inch of him, and burning their way inside to char his core from the inside out. His leaves dried and burst into flame, sending what was left of his foliage down in a snow of burning ash. He couldn't even breathe, all he could smell was smoke and the smell of his burning insides, which it of itself was almost more painful than the searing red destroying him from the outside. He couldn't even hear himself screaming anymore—could he even scream? His voice felt like it had been burned away.

He could barely see now. Even his vision was tainted by flame.

The battle was over. That strange red Digimon, Growlmon, and his loathsome companions had stepped back to watch him die. Did none of them have any mercy? No, wait, Growlmon was merely preparing to deliver the final blow, when a dark shape—tall, angular and ominous dropped out of the flaming sky.

All Cherrymon could make out were those eyes. Three of them, burning bright, jade green—a forest green—in that silhouette. They were strong now. Oh, those ghosts were still there, swirling around behind the fire in those eyes. But the heaviness that had bound that Impmon was gone.

_Heh_. He almost wanted to ask Beelzemon to be the one to finish him off, just to see if he could do it. He didn't have a voice. So, he bared his teeth at him in the best approximation of a grin, and pointing a flaming finger directly at Beelzemon.

But he didn't end up needing the coup de grace in the end. In the moment he locked eyes with Beelzemon, he dissolved.

The last thing he ever saw was green.

* * *

><p>The next events passed in an exhausted blur.<p>

Beelzemon took Renamon, Calumon and Lopmon into his claws and flew back towards the fort, with Guilmon and Gargomon following close behind. His very shadow passing over the horde of Woodmon bashing away at MarineAngemon's depleted barrier was enough to prompt them to clear a space.

He landed in front of the exhausted MarineAngemon and Guardromon, ignoring the gasps of surprise (and horror, from the Woodmon). As soon as he did, the barrier dissipated. He could hear MarineAngemon collapse with a sigh into Guardromon's hands.

After depositing Renamon and the others onto the ground, he stood up to his full height and flared out all four of his wings.

"Puppetmon and Cherrymon are dead. You've no reason to hang around this place anymore, so if you don't want to end up like that there forest, I suggest you clear outta here."

"We've left you a path to the North," Growlmon said. "But you'd better not think about coming back here again, or you'll be sorry."

The Woodmon, without their masters, didn't need even that much urging.

After that, Growlmon and Gargomon reverted back to their rookie forms. Just watching them go seemed to flip a switch in Beelzemon—

Already his strength was waning, and his form suddenly become very heavy, and very cumbersome, as if managing all these limbs and all this weight was too much. He fought it. There was at least one more thing he wanted to do, first.

He flew over to the dead tree that had smashed through the great hall. There were a few Geckmon around there, already trying to work to get it out of the way. They scattered at his approach, some even squealing in terror. Couldn't blame 'em. He knew what he looked like, and he knew it was frightening. In a way, he relished it, honestly.

He grabbed the tree in his claws, and with a grunt of effort, picked it up and hurled it back into the forest, where it collapsed with a heavy thud, taking a few of the tougher trees still standing with it.

The sky had it after that. As if on cue, the clouds opened up, and the rain they'd been threatening all day finally poured out with a strange kind of urgency, as if it was trying to calm the raging earth below. The water was surprisingly cold, or maybe his skin was just hot, but either way, it soaked past his clothes and chilled him to the bone, cooling whatever fire he had left in him—and with it, what remained of his strength.

That was okay, he guessed as it melted way in a soft golden light. His knees wobbled. He might have fallen, if not for someone's claws.

_I don't need it right now. _

The last thing his struggling consciousness saw, clear and warm in his mind's eyes, was a memory of Ai and Makoto's face grinning big toothy grins, bright eyes scrunched with the light of promise.

* * *

><p>There were a couple of things that Impmon expected after it was all over, if not really consciously.<p>

He expected that the Geckomon might throw a party after their victory—after all, they obviously were all that pomp and circumstance and stuff. He could see it now, him and Renamon and the others standing on that dais and regaling the stories of their battles—but especially his, because for once he could be the star for a good reason that didn't explode in his face (the last time this had happened was after rescuing Renamon and the others from that D-Reaper agent, and the "party" in the aftermath—a potluck dinner assembled by a bunch of human mothers and people he didn't know followed by a serious strategy talk and introductions, at least, on his part, and that had been kind of awkward). Even though he was tired, he was sure he could at least try to party.

He kind of expected that they might get to eat again, because who know when they'd get to next, and these guys obviously had food. The food and the party thing kind of went hand in hand.

The last thing he expected was that they would be welcomed to stay until they recovered. Obviously, Guilmon would only accept because of Renamon's injuries, and maybe after one more day or so they'd leave to the disappointment of their hosts, who would be sad to see them leave. But it would be for the best—after all, Impmon was already raring to get out of here and get on their journey, but he certainly wouldn't mind at least one more trip to the bath…

Of course, later, he would mentally curse himself for a sleep-addled fool for these expectations, unconscious or not, because—hey!—reality was a-knocking, and it wasn't too friendly.

He was woken by an incredibly apologetic Guilmon just the next morning. He said he was sorry to wake him and Renamon, but it was probably not good to wait anymore. Confused and still sleepy, Impmon had followed, nursing the pounding headache you got after being startled awake and then getting up too fast.

Guilmon led him and Renamon a small room where the rest of their group was seated, each eating what looked like a bowl of rice with some vegetables. By now, Impmon was awake to notice that the keep was as quiet as a funeral house.

Of course it was. The King was dead, after all. He nearly slapped himself for the stupidity of his assumption that it would be otherwise, but instead just plopped down on the ground next to where Lopmon and Guardromon were. No one talked while they ate—and as they chewed their food (which was lukewarm and bland, making Impmon wonder if it had been left out for a while), they had stretched like a too-small piece of cling wrap over a too-big plate of leftovers.

Impmon finally had it.

"Okay, what's going on?"

The attending Geckomon, who were standing uncomfortably close to them as though they were anxious for them to hurry up and finish their stupid food swallowed, but none of them said anything. Impmon ground his chopsticks into his bowl. He was no expert in the realm of manners, but come on!

The second they all put their chopsticks down, the bowls were cleared away in the blink of an eye and the Steward, looking haggard, entered. All but two of the attendants exited the room, but Impmon could hear them, clustering around behind the rice paper doors to hear what he had to say. The Steward wrung his hands and glanced around shiftily. Seriously, they didn't stay in one spot for more than a second. When he didn't say anything, Guilmon tried to break the ice.

"So, um…we're all here now. What was it you wanted to say?" The Steward finally grew a spine and replied, still wringing his hands.

"We're all very grateful for your help for the last few days. Without you, this fort would be gone. I'm sure our King rests easy knowing it still stands, thanks to all of you."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes, yes, reconstruction is in order, no one else was hurt, really…" he swallowed, "I trust you are all recovering well?"

Guilmon glanced over his shoulder, at Renamon, who straightened imperceptibly, and flicked her tail in a silent affirmation. Impmon frowned. He'd watched her as she ate. Her right arm was still a little shaky, and her steps as she'd followed him up from the room, were just the slightest bit out of beat. This said a lot, for Renamon. Still, she had been barely able to stand yesterday, so this was good. Another day or so and she'd probably be fine.

"Then, I think it's best that you all leave, today."

Impmon was the only one who gasped audibly, but _everyone_ looked up in surprise. Terriermon prodded him to shut it, and for once he found himself taking the suggestion. Not for long, though, "But—" _Renamon can't travel yet, _he started to say, but Renamon herself blocked his speech with her arm, and nodded to the Steward. Guilmon was still too shocked to respond, so she took over.

"Understood. Thank you for your hospitality."

The Steward cringed. "Please understand. We're all very grateful, but…my people are in mourning right now. For the friends we've lost to the Chaos and," his eyes shifted to Impmon, "—and of course, our dearly beloved King. It's just that…"

Impmon held the Steward's eyes like a magnet, swallowing the bitter bile that rose in his throat. He wanted to blame them for being unfair jerks—ungrateful ones! They'd risked everything, and he had personally defeated Puppetmon! But in truth, as much as it spiked his hair to admit, he couldn't even blame them, because in their own way, they were right to fear him…and by extension, the others, he supposed. It didn't stop it from hurting though, especially since he was trying so damn hard to try and make up all that stuff.

In a way, you couldn't make it up, not really and not perfectly, because scars were forever. And that didn't stop it from hurting.

But…looking into that Geckomon's eyes, he found that at least for that moment, he didn't care what these slimy, spineless guys thought of him. But… he found that at least for that moment, he didn't care what these slimy, spineless guys thought of him. And in that moment, it was liberating.

He almost laughed in his face, but before he did, he noticed a shift in Guilmon's posture, after the demon dinosaur realized what the Steward (who hastily averted his gaze) was looking. It was small, but it was there.

"All right then. Bye." He immediately turned and left, quickly followed by everyone pretty much without comment, although the fact that _Guardromon_ looked visibly disgusted had to count for something. He muttered something that sounded like, "Disgraceful!" under his breath, but maybe that was just Impmon's imagination.

"W-wait!" the Steward cried after them. "I didn't mean you had to leave at this very moment! Please, come—"

"Nah, it's better this way, I think I know what you meant," Guilmon said, "Good luck building your fort again!" as they walked, he bent down to speak t Impmon, who, kind of stunned at the display back there, hadn't said anything, "Don't worry, Impmon. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"How's what?"

Guilmon grinned, "He doesn't know you."

"He's right," Guardromon added, "We're your teammates."

Impmon rubbed the side of his face. "Some world we live in, huh?"

Guilmon looked up at the sky. The globe that represented the Real World hummed and spun—so metallic and bright it seemed close enough to touch. "Well, hopefully not for too much longer. Let's go."

They paid their respects to the Geckomon King before leaving, crossing the drawbridge, and heading into the devastated forest.

* * *

><p>The rain had kicked up almost as soon as they left, accompanied by a grumble from the sky. It wasn't stinging, lashing rain like what had dumped out of the clouds last night, nor was it bad enough to force them to seek shelter. Just a persistent, heavy drizzle that had them all soaked within about ten minutes of walking. In any case, this surprise storm transformed the previously flaming forest into a semi-swamp, with burned-out husks of trees and shattered stumps everywhere you looked. Already, the evidence of last night's struggle was getting washed away into bits of bark. But after about an hour's walk, there was one area that was unmistakable.<p>

An irregular circle area had been all but cleared, the remnants of trees shattered into blasted bits even more so than the rest of the woods, and the ground was pockmarked with several large craters, now half-full of rainwater. In the middle of the circle was a large indented shape, and Impmon nearly fell into it.

It was actually his own footprint as Beelzemon. He blinked. He couldn't help but stare at it. He hadn't talked much about the fight. No one had really said much at all, preferring to march along in companiable silence and listen to the rain. A reprieve from the noisy chaos that had been the last few days, probably.

It had left Impmon with a lot of time to think. And he really didn't like the thoughts, either. Seeing this spot only brought all that junk to the fore. He clenched his fist, loosely. This was the spot where he'd killed Puppetmon.

Remembering him sent a shudder trailing down Impmon's back. For all Puppetmon's accusations and "guilty killer" stuff, he didn't regret or feel guilty in the slightest for blowing him to pieces.

What happened with Leomon would stay with him forever. There was no way he could ever stop feeling guilty about _that_. The context of Leomon's death—the betrayal of the only people who'd ever extended even the slightest hand of kindness—and what it had done to Jeri…no, that was wrong. It just _was._

But Puppetmon. After what he did to Renamon, and threatening Ai and Mako—that was unforgivable. No one would ever walk away from that. He'd deserved it.

And yet…Impmon grabbed a handful of dirt and let it fall through his fingers, plopping into the puddle and disrupting his reflection. He'd deserved it, too. Back when he murdered Leomon.

"We're getting left behind." Renamon, slower than usual, was hanging towards the back, and had drifted to where Impmon was standing.

He sighed, looking up at the sky. A drop of rain fell into his eye. "What made us different? Puppetmon and me? I mean, if he deserved to die, so did I, right?""

Both of them had been completely crazy, bloodthirsty, and unrepentant—at least up until _after_ Jeri had begged for his life. So what was it?

Renamon folded her arms, and followed his gaze into the sky. The Real World was still as clear as ever, no matter the weather, no matter the place, unblinking, bright and blue.

"I don't know. But I think that in a way, something in you did die that day." A smile crept into her voice, "Perhaps, karma or luck stepped in to save the rest."

She turned to follow the others. Impmon chased after her, yelling.

"I thought we were done with the karma stuff!"

But in truth, he had to wonder, how was Renamon so smart and wise—and at what point had they stopped needing any kind of lead in to their conversations?

* * *

><p>"Of course, the rain stops as soon as my shift's over," Terriermon grumbled to himself as he wrung out his ears and schlepped wetly into the cave.<p>

After the burned forest, they were in the grassy foothills of a series of gentle mountains, overlooking a big blue lake. In truth, they were a little less than a day's journey from the stupid Geckomon and their fort, but Renamon needed a little more time to recuperate (she hadn't said anything, but she didn't complain when Guilmon suggested they stop after finding a comfortable ledge with a scooped out indent that was barely a distant cousin of a normal cave, but to get out of the rain, it would do. Besides, from up here, they could see pretty much everything. Although Terriermon was pretty well sick of the Digital World. All he really wanted to see was Tokyo's polluted sky and tall buildings, because that's where Henry was, and that was the best thing in the worlds.

He shook his head. Anyway, he had to wake Impmon up now. Guardromon had already gotten up to relieve Guilmon and was waiting outside for him. He regarded the purple Virus type, who was comfortably wedged between Renamon and Lopmon, with MarineAngemon sleeping on his head.

Gingerly, he reached out and grabbed MarineAngemon as gently as he could, and put him between Renamon's furry ears instead. The little guy was so exhausted he didn't even budge. As for Impmon, well, he had to budge, whether he liked it or not.

"Impmon. Wakey-wakey." Terriermon reached out and prodded him in the shoulder. After a series of ear flicking and tail pulling, Terriermon finally decided to get serious.

"Get up, you lazy potato sack!" He pushed his claw against Impmon's belly, but that only had the effect of getting him to turn over on his side with a loud snore, exposing his scarred back to Terriermon, who frowned.

That's funny, Impmon's scars—they weren't nearly as pink and fat as they were just a few days ago. Hmmm…a devious little grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. He knew he really shouldn't, but those kinds of thoughts had never really stopped him in the past. Besides, it might be the only way to get Mr. Sensitive up before they all died of old age (if that was something Digimon could do, anyway?).

He poked Impmon's middle scar, holding his breath.

Nothing happened. Eh?

He proceeded to poke all of Impmon's spinal scars, and even ran his finger up and down his spine, with no interesting result. It was like playing a broken xylophone. Finally, he set his teeth and settled for a sharp, clawed jab in the middle of the back. He was almost surprised when Impmon woke with an irritated snuffling sound.

Terriermon ran a few paces away, putting his arms innocently behind his back. "Sorry, Impmon, but no amount of ear-flicking and tail pulling seemed to do it. You sleep like a brick!"

Impmon rubbed his face sleepily, eye unfocused and eyes raw with the truth that is the Half-Asleep-Confession-Type-Truth. "Whaddya mean? You musta been breathing on me, Terriermon, I barely felt that." He crawled out of the cave, scratching and yawning, leaving a stunned Terriermon in his wake.

* * *

><p>Guardromon heard the commotion from the cave. Oh, leave it to Terriermon to continue to antagonize Impmon! Surely he meant well—well, Terriermon really seemed to mean mischief most of the time, but he did mean well, even then, Guardromon was pretty sure.<p>

Impmon came out of the cave, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, okay, I'm awake. Hi, Guardromon."

He didn't sound upset. He was just staring out at the scenery. Still, best to make sure. Impmon had an awful time of it lately. It didn't take a genius to notice that his feelings had been hurt terribly upon leaving the Geckomon fort (he had been very disappointed, even in them). Especially in light of the character he actually had displayed over the past few days. Sure he was abrasive, rude and noisy, but Guardromon had seen for himself his true heart.

And he was probably tired about everyone pointing out his scars, but he guessed it didn't hurt to try.

"You know, there are certain kinds of wounds—defense wounds. I think that's what they're called when you protect someone, or try to do the right thing—"

Impmon stretched, tail twitching. "Guardromon, yeesh! You don't have to sugarcoat it anymore—you guys have done it so much I'm getting cavities just thinkin' about it. They are what they are, all right?" Impmon's voice was oddly flat—no, _genuine_. Guardromon wasn't sure if he'd ever heard Impmon speak without that spark of mild frustration or annoyance buzzing in his voice, even if he didn't mean it, but this was something new. But even more than the strangeness in his voice, he couldn't help but note a tiny smile on the little Digimon's face that he was certain Impmon didn't think he could see.

_The End_

* * *

><p>AN: I don't know if it shows, but I really, really like writing fight scenes. I wrote almost all of them in this chapter while listening to the "evolution" theme from the Digimon Tamers soundtrack and I totally indulged the bloodthirsty monster in me here. XD Sorry about that.

*shogi—pretty much the Japanese equivalent of chess

*jack-o-lantern—at first I was a little hesitant to use this simile, because I wasn't sure how well-known or celebrated Halloween and its associated traditions are in Japan. After some research, though, it turns out that Halloween decorations, including jack-o-lanterns, are very popular fall decorations in Japan (who knew?), so it's not completely out-of-place and Impmon may very well have seen one at some point.

Last thing thing buisness-wise, even though while this is a story mostly about Impmon, with an emphasis on interpersonal relationships in the group, I gave Renamon second listing because she had the second-most point of view scenes (Terriermon comes in third).

But HOT DAMN. This story was supposed to be short. This is a short NOVEL. Seriously, this thing is about a hundred and ten pages single-spaced in 11-point Calibri font. HOW DID THAT HAPPEN? I guess when I plotted the whole thing out and built my outline, I didn't really realize how much space I would need to do it the justice I figured it needed. In any case, writing it was super cathartic and honestly, a real blast. But I think for my next trick, I'll do something a little shorter and with a more comedic bent XD

As always, comments/criticisms are greatly appreciated! Thank you, dear readers, for sticking through this big fat beast, and I hope that you all had as much fun reading it as I had writing it!


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